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Received 

Accessions  _V< 


USS 


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POEMS 


FROM 


THE     INNER    LIFE 


BY 


LIZZIE    DOTEN. 


"And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow 

Hath  been  lifted  evermore."  Po«. 

"  The  kingdom  of  Heaven  is  within  you." 


WILLIAM    WHITE    AND    COMPANY, 

BANNER    OP    LIGHT    OFFICE, 

No.   14  HANOVER  STREET. 

1873. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863  by 

ELIZABETH    DOTEN, 
Tn  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


ELECTROTYPE!)    AT     THE 

BOSTON     STEREOTYPE     FOUNDRY, 

4    SPRING    LANE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
A  WORD  TO  THE  WORLD  (PREFATORY) v 

?  A  v^-T    I . 

THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  SORROWING 3 

THE  SONG  OF  TRUTH, 6 

THE  EMBARKATION,         . 9 

KEPLER'S  VISION, 14 

LOVE  AND  LATIN, 18 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  NORTH, 21 

THE  BURIAL  OF  WEBSTER, or, 

THE  PARTING  OF  SIGURD  AND  GERDA,        .        .        .        .31 
THE  MEETING  OF  SIGURD  AND  GERDA,        .        .        .  ?j 

PART    II. 

THE  SPIRIT-CHILD.    BT»JEXXIE."' 41 

RECONCILIATION,       .        .        . 48 

HOPE  FOR  THE  SORROWING, .54 

COMPENSATION, 57 

THE  EAGLE  OF  FREEDOM,  '* 03 

(in) 


Jv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
MISTRESS  GLENARE.    BY  "  MARIAN."        .....    6G 

LITTLE  JOHNNY,         .        .        .  70 

"  BIRDIE'S  "  SPIRIT-SONG, 73 

MY  SPIRIT-HOME.     [A.  W.  SPRAGUE.] 76 

I  STILL  LIVE.     [A.  W.  SPRAGUE.] 80 

LIFE.      [SHAKSPEARE.] 86 

LOVE.     [SHAKSPEARE.]  .          .         •         •         «         «...       •  •     ^ 

FOR  A'  THAT.     [BURNS.]    .        ....    •    .        •        •        •    9" 
WORDS  O'  CHEER.     [BURNS.]  .        .        .        .        .        •        •        •    9<J 

RESURREXI.     [POE.]    .        .        .        . 1M 

THE  PROPHECY  OF  VALA.     [POE.] .109 

THE  KINGDOM.     [POE.] H« 

THE  CRADLE  OR  COFFIN.    [POE.] 124 

THE  STREETS  OF  BALTIMORE.     [POE.] 128 

THE  MYSTERIES  OF  GODLINESS.    A  LECTURE.    .        .       .  134 
FAREWELL  TO  EARTH.     [POE.] 162 


A  WORD  TO  THE  WORLD. 


IN  presenting  this  volume  to  the  public,  I 
trust  that  I  may  be  allowed,  without  incurring 
the  charge  of  egotism,  to  say  somewhat  con 
cerning  my  spiritual  experience,  and  the  man 
ner  in  which  these  poems  were  originated.  I 
am,  in  a  measure,  under  the  necessity  of  do 
ing  this,  lest  some  over-anxious  friend,  or 
would-be  critic,  should  undertake  the  work  for 
me,  and  thereby  place  me,  either  unconscious 
ly  or  intentionally,  in  a  false  position  before 
the  public. 

By  the  advice  of  those  invisible  intelligences, 
w^hose  presence  and  power  I  freely  acknowl 
edge,  seconded  by  my  own  judgment,  I  have 
given  to  this  work  the  title  of  "Poems  from 


yi  A   WORD  TO   THE   WORLD. 

the  Inner  Life;"  for,  aside  from  the  external 
phenomena   of  Modern  Spiritualism, —which, 
compared  to  the    great   principles    underlying 
them,  are   but   mere    froth    and   foam  on  the 
ocean  of  Truth, —I  have  realized  that  in  the 
mysterious  depths  of  the  Inner  Life,  all  souls 
can  hold  communion  with   those   invisible  be- 
ings,  who  are  our  companions  both  in  Time  and 
Eternity.     My  vision  has  been  dim  and  indis 
tinct,  my  hearing  confused  by  the  jarring  dis 
cords  of  earthly  existence,   and  my  utterances 
of  a  wisdom,  higher  than  my  own,  impeded  by 
my  selfish  conceits  and  vain  imaginings.     Yet, 
notwithstanding  all  this,  the  solemn  convictions 
of  my  spiritual  surroundings,  and  the  mutual 
ties   of   interest    still    existing   between   souls, 
"whether   in   the    body    or   out    ot  the  body," 
have  been  indelibly  impressed  upon  me.     From 
such  experiences  1  have  learned  —  in  a  sense 
hitherto    unknown  —  that    "  the    kingdom   of 
Heaven  is  within  me."     I  know  that  many  sin 
cere  and  earnest  souls  will  decide  at  once,  in 


A  WORD   TO    THE   WORLD.  vii 

the  integrity  of  their  well-trained  intellects, 
that  this  claim  to  an  intercourse  with  the  invisi 
ble  world  is  an  extravagant  assumption,  and 
has  no  foundation  in  truth.  To  such  I  would 
say,  I  shall  make  no  effort  to  persuade  your 
reason  and  judgment.  I  only  offer  to  you 
as  a  suggestion,  that  which  has  been  realized 
by  me  in  my  spiritual  experience,  and  has  be 
come  to  me  an  abiding  truth,  full  of  strength 
for  the  present,  and  hope  for  the  future.  When 
your  souls  sincerely  hunger  after  such  a  revela 
tion,  you  will  seek  for  it,  and  according  to  your 
need,  you  will  be  filled  therewith.  Until  then, 
you  and  I,  regarding  things  from  a  different 
point  of  view,  must  inevitably  understand  them 
differently.  There  are  various  cups  which  Hu 
manity  must  drink  of,  and  "  baptisms  which  it 
must  be  baptized  with,"  and  this  manifestation 
of  Truth,  of  which  I  am  but  one  of  the  humble 
representatives,  has  laid  its  controlling  hand 
upon  me ;  for  what  purpose,  in  the  mysterious 
results  which  lie  concealed  in  the  future,  I  can 
not  tell  —  I  only  know  that  it  is  so. 


Vlll  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

Looking  back  upon  my  experience,  I  cannot 
doubt  that  I  —  with  many  others  —  was  des 
tined  to  this  phase  of  development,  and  de 
signed  for  this  peculiar  work,  before  I  knew 
conscious  being.  My  brain  was  fashioned,  and 
my  nervous  system  finely  strung,  so  that  I 
should  inevitably  catch  the  thrill  of  the'  innu 
merable  voices  resounding  through  the  universe, 
and  translate  their  messages  into  human  lan 
guage,  as  coherently  and  clearly  as  my  imper 
fections  would  allow.  The  early  influences  of 
my  childhood,  the  experiences  of  later  3^ears, 
and  more  than  all,  that  unutterable  yearning  for 
Beauty  and  Harmony,  which  I  felt  dimly  con 
scious  w^as  somewhere  in  the  universe,  all  tend 
ed  to  drive  me  back  from  the  world,  which  would 
not  and  could  not  give  me  what  I  asked,  to  the 
revelations  of  my  inner  life,  —  to  the  "Heaven 
within  me."  It  was  only  through  the  cultivation 
of  my  spiritual  nature  that  w  spiritual  things  were 
to  be  discerned,"  and  the  stern  necessity  of  my 
life  was  the  Teacher  which  finally  educated  me 
into  the  perception  of  Truth. 


A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 


I   turn   back   to  the  memories  of  my  child 
hood  —  to  that  long  course  of  trying  experien 
ces  through  which  I  passed,  guided  by  strange 
and  invisible  influences  ;    and  that  whole  course 
of  discipline  has  for  me  now  a  peculiar  signifi 
cance.     Those  who  were  near  and  dear  to  me, 
and  who  were  most  familiar  with  my  habits  of 
life,  knew  little  of  my  intense  spiritual  experi 
ence.     I  was  too  much  afraid  of  being  ridiculed 
and  misunderstood  to  dare  give  any  expression 
to  the  strange  and  indefinable  emotions  within 
me.     Such  ones,  however,  may  call  to  mind  the 
child  who  often,  through  the  long  winter  even 
ings,  sat  in  profound  silence  by  the  fireside,  with 
her  head  and  face  enveloped  in  her  apron,  to  ex 
clude,  as  far  as  possible,  all  external  sight  and 
sound.     What  I  heard  and  saw  then  but  dimly 
returns  to   me  ;  but  even  then  the    revelations 
from  the  "Heaven  within  "  had  commenced,  and 
succeeding  years  have  so  strengthened  and  con 
firmed  my  vision,  that  such  scenes  have  become 
to  me  living  truths  and  blessed  realities.     The 


X  A   WORD   TO   THE    WORLD. 

"  Heaven  "  that  "  lay  about  me  in  my  infancy  * 
sent. its  rich  glow  through  my  childhood,  and 
sheds  its  mystic  brightness  upon  the  pathway 
of  my  riper  years.  , 

Often,  in  the  retirement  of  a  small  closet,  I 
spent  hours  in  total  darkness,  lying  prostrate  on 
the  floor,  beating  the  waves  of  the  mysterious 
Infinite  that  rolled  in  a  stormy  flood  over  me, 
and  with  prayers  and  tears  beseeching  deliver 
ance  from  my  blindness  and  seeming  unbelief. 
Then,  when  by  my  earnestness  the  spirit  had 
become  stronger  than  the  flesh,  I  would  gradu 
ally  fall  into  a  deep  trance,  from  which  I  would 
arise  strengthened  and  consoled  by  the  assur 
ance  —  from  whence  I  could  not  tell  —  that 
somewhere  in  the  future  I  should  find  all  the 
life,  and  light,  and  freedom  that  my  soul  de 
sired.  The  only  evidence  or  knowledge  which 
those  around  me  received  of  such  visitations 
was  occasionally  a  poem  —  some  of  them  writ 
ten  so  early  in  life,  that  the  childish  chirography 
rendered  them  almost  illegible.  Because  of 


t 
A    WORD    TO    THE   WORLD. 


these  early  productions,  it  has  been  asserted 
that  my  claim  to  any  individual  spirit-influence 
was  either  a  falsehood  or  delusion.  I  will  only 
say  in  reply,  that  there  is  no  need  of  entering 
upon  any  argument  on  the  subject.  I  claim 
both  a  general  and  particular  inspiration.  They 
do  not,  by  any  means,  conflict  ;  and  what  I  do 
not  receive  from  one,  comes  from  the  other. 
For  the  very  reason  that  I  have  natural  poetic 

tendencies,    I   attract   influenced  of  a   kindred 

» 

nature  ;  and  when  I  desire  it,  or  they  will  to  do 
so,  they  cast  their  characteristic  inspirations 
upon  me,  and  I  give  them  utterance  according 
to  my  ability.  It  is  often  as  difficult  to  decide 
what  is  the  action  of  one's  own  intellect  and 
what  is  spirit-influence,  as  it  is  in  our  ordinary 
associations  to  determine  what  is  original  with 
ourselves  and  what  we  have  received  from 
circumstances  or  contact  with  the  mind  of 
others.  Yet,  nevertheless,  there  are  cases  where 
the  distinction  is  so  evident  that  it  is  not  to 
be  doubted.  Only  one  or  two  such  well-attest- 


xii  A   WORD   TO    THE   WORLD. 

ed  instances  is  sufficient  to  establish  the  theory. 
I  am  not  willing  to  ignore  one  faculty  or  power 
of  my  being  for  the  sake  of  proving  a  favor 
ite  idea ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  I  cannot  con 
scientiously  deny  that,  in  the  mysteries  of  my 
inner  life,  I  have  been  acted  upon  decidedly 
and  directly  by  disembodied  intelligences,  and 
this,  sometimes,  by  an  inspiration  characteristic 
of  the  individual,  or  by  a  psychological  influence 
similar  to  that  whereby  mind  acts  upon  mind 
in  the  body.  Under  such  influences  I  have 
not  necessarily  lost  my  individuality,  or  be 
come  wholly  unconscious.  I  was,  for  the  time 
being,  like  a  harp  in  the  hands  of  superior 
powers,  and  just  in  proportion  as  my  entire 
nature  was  attuned  to  thrill  responsive  to  their 
touch,  did  I  give  voice  and  expression  to  their 
unwritten  music.  They  furnished  the  inspira 
tion,  but  it  was  of  necessity  modified  by  the 
nature  and  character  of  the  instrument  upon 
which  they  played,  for  the  most  skilful  musi 
cian  cannot  change  the  tone  of  a  harp  to  the 


A   WORD   TO    THE   WORLD.  Xlll 

sound  of  a  trumpet,  though  he  may  give  a 
characteristic  expression  of  himself  through 
either. 

The  presence  and  influence  of  these  powers 
is  to  me  no  new  or  recent  occurrence,  although 
I  may  not  have  understood  them  in  the  same 
light  as  I  do  at  present.  They  have  formed  a 
part  of  all  my  past  life,  and  I  can  trace  the 
evidence  of  spiritual  assistance  running  like  a 
golden  thread  through  all  my  intellectual 
efforts.  As  I  do  not  desire  to  practise  any 
deception  upon  the  public,  but  on  the  contrary 
only  wish  to  declare  the  simple  truth,  I  have 
published  in  this  volume  quite  a  number  of 
poems,  written  several  years  previous  to  my 
appearance  before  the  public  as  a  medium 
or  a  speaker.  Although  these  were  mostly 
wrought  out  of  my  brain  by  the  slow  process 
of  thought,  yet  for  some  of  these,  even,  I  can 
claim  as  direct  and  special  an  inspiration  as  for 
those  delivered  upon  the  platform.  The  first 
poem  in  this  present  work,  —  "The  Prayer  of  the 
b 


XIV  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

Sorrowing,"  —  and  that  which  immediately  suc 
ceeds  it,  — "The  Song  of  Truth,"  —  containing 
in  itself  an  answer  to  the  Prayer,  were  given 
to  me  under  peculiar  circumstances.  The  first 
was  the  language  of  my  own  soul,  intensified 
by  an  occasion  of  great  mental  anguish.  The 
second,  following  directly  upon  it,  was -an  illu 
mination  of  my  entire  being,  when  I  seemed  to 
have  wept  away  the  scales  from  my  eyes,  and 
"by  the  deep  conflict  of  my  soul  in  prayer," 
to  have  broken  the  fetters  of  my  mortality,  and 
stepped  forth  into  that  freedom  whereby  I 
stood  face  to  face  with  the  ministering  spirits, 
and  heard  that  "  Song  of  Truth "  sounding 
through  the  universe.  I  have  only  known  but 
few  such  visitations  in  my  lifetime,  but  when 
they  have  come,  I  have  felt  that  I  have  taken 
a  free,  deep  breath  of  celestial  air,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  Kealities  of  Things.  As  an  im 
mediate  consequence,  my  spirit  has  become 
braver  and  stronger,  and  long  after  my  in 
ward  vision  was  closed,  the  cheering  light  of 


A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD.  XV 

that    blessed    revelation  has    lingered    in  my 
heart. 

Another  poem,  which  bore  evidence  to  me 
of  an  inspiration  acting  upon  me,  and  external 
to  myself,  was  the  "  Song  of  the  North,"  relat 
ing  to  the  fate  of  Sir  John  Franklin  and  his 
men.  I  was  desired  to  write  an  illustration 
for  a  plate,  about  to  appear  in  the  "  Lily  of  the 
Valley,"  an  Annual  published  by  J.  M.  Usher, 
of  Cornhill,  Boston.  I  endeavored  to  do  so, 
but  day  after  day  passed  by  and  my  labor  was 
in  vain,  for  not  one  acceptable  idea  would  sug 
gest  itself.  The  publisher  sent  for  the  article, 
but  it  was  not  in  being.  One  day,  however,  I 
was  seized  with  an  indefinable  uneasiness.  I 
wandered  up  and  down  through  the  house  and 
garden,  till  finally  the  idea  of  what  I  was  to 
do  became  clearly  defined ;  then,  with  my 
paper  and  pencil,  I  hastened  to  a  quiet  corner 
in  the  attic,  where  nearly  all  my  poems  had 
been  written,  and  there  I  wrote  the  Song  of 
the  North  —  so  rapidly,  that  it  was  scarce  legi- 


XVi  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

ble,  and  I  was  obliged  to  copy  it  at  once,  lest 
I  should  lose  the  connection.  The  next  day  it 
seemed  as  foreign  and  strange  to  me  as  it  would 
to  any  one  who  had  never  seen  it.  At  the  time 
this  was  written  (in  April,  1853)  strong  hopes 
were  entertained  of  the  discovery  of  Franklin 
and  his  men,  together  with  their  safe  return  ; 
therefore  I  hesitated  to  make  public  that  which 
seemed  a  decided  affirmation  to  the  contrary. 
Nevertheless,  so  strong  were  my  convictions 
as  to  the  truth  of  the  poem,  that  I  allowed  it 
to  be  published.  Later  revelations  concerning 
the  fate  of  that  brave  adventurer  and  his  com 
panions  gave  to  the  poem  somewhat  of  the 
character  of  a  prophecy. 

How  far  I  have  ever  written,  independent 
of  these  higher  influences,  I  cannot  say ;  I  only 
know  that  all  the  poems  under  my  own  name 
have  come  from  the  deep  places  of  my  "  Inner 
Life  ;  "  and  in  that  self-same  sacred  retreat  — 
which  I  have  entered  either  by  the  intense  con 
centration  of  all  my  intellectual  powers,  or  a 


A    WORD    TO    THE    WORLD. 

passive  surrender  to  the  inspirations  that  moved 
Upon  me  —  I  have  held  conscious  communion 
with  disembodied  spirits.  At  such  times  it  has 
been  said  I  was  "  entranced  ;  "  and  although  that 
term  does  not  exactly  express  my  idea,  perhaps 
it  is  the  best  which  can  yet  be  found  in  our 
language.  The  avenues  of  external  sense,  if 
not  entirely  closed,  were  at  least  disused,  in 
order  that  the  spiritual  perceptions  might  be 
quickened  to  the  required  degree,  and  also  that 
the  world  of  causes,  of  which  earth  and  its  ex 
periences  are  but  the  passing  effects,  might  be 
disclosed  to  my  vision.  Certain  it  is  that  a 
physical  change  took  place,  affecting  both  my 
breathing  and  circulation,  and  my  clairvoyant 
powers  were  so  strengthened  that  I  could  dimly 
perceive  external  objects  from  the  frontal  por 
tion  of  my  brain,  even  with  my  eyes  closed  and 
bandaged  ;  also,  in  that  state,  any  excess  of  light 
was  far  more  painful  than  under  ordinary  condi 
tions.  If  the  communications  given  through  my 
instrumentality  have  been  weak,  erroneous,  and 


XViii  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

imperfect,  it  is  no  fault  of  my  spirit-teachers,  but 
arises  rather  from  my  own  inability  to  understand 
or  clearly  express  what  was  communicated  to  me. 
In  relation  to   the  poems  given  under  direct 
spirit-influence  I  would  say,  that  there  has  been 
a  mistake  existing  in  many  minds    concerning 
them,  which  I  take  the  present  opportunity,  as 
for  as  possible,  to  correct.     They  were  not  like 
lightning  flashes,  coming  unheralded,  and  van 
ishing  without  leaving  a  trace  behind.     Several 
days  before  they  were  given,  I  would  receive 
intimations  of  them.     Oftentimes,  and  particu 
larly  under  the  influence  of  Poe,  I  would  awake 
in  the  night  from  a  deep  slumber,  and  detached 
fragments  of  those    poems    would   be   floating 
through   my  mind,  though   in  a   few  moments 
after  they  would  vanish  like  a  dream.     I  have 
sometimes  awakened  myself  by  repeating  them 
aloud.    I  have  been  informed,  also,  by  these  in 
fluences,  tliat  all  their  poems  are  as  complete 
and   finished  in  spirit-life  as  they  are  in  this, 
and  the  only  reason  why  they  cannot  be  repeat- 


A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD.  XIX 

ed  again  and  again  is  because  of  the  difficulty 
of  bringing  a  human  organism  always  into 
the  same  state  of  exaltation  —  a  state  in  which 
mediums  readily  receive  inspiration,  and  render 
the  poems  with  the  least  interference  of  their 
own  intellect. 

Among  these  spiritual  poems  will  be  found 
two  purporting  to  come  from  Shakspeare.  This 
influence  seemed  to  overwhelm  and  crush  me. 
I  was  afraid,  and  shrank  from  it.  Only  those 
two  poems  were  given,  and  then  the  attempt 
was  not  repeated.  I  do  not  think  that  the 
poems  in  themselves  come  up  to  the  produc 
tions  of  his  master  mind.  They  arc  only  inti 
mations  of  what  might  have  been,  if  he  had  had 
a  stronger  and  more  effectual  instrument  upon 
which  to  pour  his  inspirations.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  time  will  yet  furnish  one  upon 
whom  his  mantle  will  fall ;  but  I  can  only  say 
that  his  power  was  mightier  than  I  could  bear. 
As  I  have  regarded  him  spiritually,  he  seems  to 
be  a  majestic  intellect,  but  one  that  overawes 


XX'  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

rather  than  attracts  me  ;  and  my  conclusion  has 
been,  that  while  in  the  flesh,  although  he  was 
of  himself  a  mighty  mind,  yet  still  he  spake 
wiser  than  he  knew,  being  moved  upon  by  those 
superior  powers  who  choose  men  for  their  mouth 
pieces,  and  oblige  them  to  speak  startling  words 
into  the  dull  ear  of  the  times.  As  all  Nature  is 
a  manifestation  of  Deity,  so  all  Humanity  is  a 
manifestation  of  mind,  —  differing,  however,  in 
degrees  of  development,  —  and  one  body  serves 
as  an  instrument  to  effect  the  purposes  of  many 
minds.  This  is  illustrated  in  the  pursuits  and 
employments  of  ordinary  life,  and  has  a  far 
deeper  significance  when  taken  in  connection 
with  the  invisible  world. 

The  influence  of  Burns  wras  pleasant,  easy,  and 
exhilarating,  and  left  me  in  a  cheerful  mood. 
As  a  spirit,  he  seemed  to  be  genial  and  kindly, 
with  a  clear  perception  and  earnest  love  of  sim 
ple  truth,  and  at  the  same  time  a  good-natured 
contempt  for  all  shams,  mere  forms,  and  sol 
emn  mockeries.  This  was  the  way  in  which 


A    WORD   TO    THE 

he  impressed  me,  and  I  felt 

fited  than  burdened  by  his  presence. 

The  first  poem  delivered  by  Poe,  came  to  me 
far  more  unexpectedly  than  any  other.  By  re 
ferring  to  the  introductory  remarks,  copied  from 
the  "  Springfield  Republican,"  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  supposition  is  presented,  that  I,  or 
"  the  one  who  wrote  the  poem,"  must  have  been 
very  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Poe.  As  no 
one  wrote  the  poem  for  me,  consequently  I  am 
the  only  one  who  can  answer  to  the  supposition  ; 
and  I  can  say,  most  conscientiously,  that  pre 
vious  to  that  time  I  had  never  read,  to  my 
knowledge,  any  of  his  poems,  save  "  The  Raven," 
and  I  had  not  seen  that  for  several  years.  In 
deed,  I  may  well  say  in  this  connection,  that 
I  have  read,  comparatively  speaking,  very 
little  poetry  in  the  course  of  my  life,  and 
have  never  made  the  style  of  any  author  a 
study.  The  influence  of  Poe  was  neither  pleas 
ant  nor  easy.  I  can  only  describe  it  as  a 
species  of  mental  intoxication.  I  was  tortured 


Xxii  A   WORD   TO    THE   WORLD. 

with  a  feeling  of  great  restlessness  and  irrita 
bility,  and  strange,  incongruous  images  crowd 
ed  my  brain.  Some  were  bewildering  and 
dazzling  as  the  sun,  others  dark  and  repul 
sive.  Under  his  influence,  particularly,  I 
suffered  the  greatest  exhaustion  of  vital  en 
ergy,  so  much  so,  that  after  giving  one  of 
his  poems,  I  was  usually  quite  ill  for  sev 
eral  days. 

But  from  his  first  poem  to  the  last,  — "  The 
Farewell  to  Earth,"  —  was  a  marked,  and  rapid 
change.  It  would  seem  as  though,  in  that 
higher  life,  where  the  opportunities  for  spir 
itual  development  far  transcend  those  of 
earth,  that  by  his  quick  and  active  percep 
tions  he  had  seized  upon  the  Divine  Idea 
which  was  endeavoring  to  find  expression 
through  his  life,  both  in  Time  and  Eternity; 
and  that  from  the  moment  this  became 
apparent,  with  a  volcanic  energy,  with  the 
battle-strokes  of  a  true  hero,  he  had  over 
thrown  every  obstacle,  and  hewn  a  way  through 


A   WORD   TO    THE   WORLD.  xxiii 

every  barrier  that  impeded  the  free  out 
growth  and  manifestation  of  his  diviner  self. 
His  "Farewell"  is  not  a  mere  poem  of  the 
imagination.  It  is  a  record  of  facts.  I  ca?i 
clearly  perceive,  as  his  spirit  has  been  re 
vealed  to  me,  that  there  was  a  deep  sig 
nificance  in  his  words,  when  he  said,  — 

"  I  will  sunder,  and  forever, 

Every  tie  of  human  passion  that  can  bind  my  soul  to  Earth  — 
Every  slavish  tie  that  binds  me  to  the  things  of  little  worth." 

As  he  last  appeared  to  me,  he  was  full 
of  majesty  and  strength,  self-poised  and 
calm,  and  it  would  seem  by  the  expression 
of  his  countenance,  radiant  with  victory,  that 
the  reward  promised  to  "  him  that  over- 
cometh,"  had  been  made  his  sure  possession. 
Around  his  brow,  as  a  spiritual  emblem, 
was  an  olive-wreath,  whose  leaves  glowed 
like  fire.  He  stood  upon  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  which  was  white  and  glittering  like 
crystal,  and  the  full  tide  of  inspiration  to 


XXIV  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

which  he  gave  utterance  could  not  be  com 
prehended  in  human  speech.  That  last  "Fare 
well,"  as  it  found  expression  through  my 
weak  lips,  was  but  the  faintest  possible  echo 
of  that  most  musical  and  majestic  lyric  which 
thrilled  the  harp-strings  of  my  being.  In 
order  to  be  fully  realized  and  understood, 
the  soul  must  be  transported  to  that  sphere 
of  spiritual  perceptions,  where  there  is  no  au 
dible  "  speech  nor  language,"  and  where  the 
"  voice  is  not  heard." 

Obedient  to  the  call  of  the  Angels,  he 
has  "gone  up  higher"  in  the  ways  of  Eter 
nal  Progress ;  and  though,  because  of  this 
change,  he  may  no  longer  manifest  himself 
as  he  was,  yet  doubtless  as  he  is,  he  will 
yet  be  felt  as  a  Presence  and  a  Power  in  the 
"Heaven"  of  many  a  human  heart.  Upon 
earth  he  was  a  meteor  light,  flashing  with 
a  startling  brilliancy  across  the  intellectual 
firmament ;  but  now  he  is  a  star  of  ever- 
increasing  magnitude,  which  has  at  length 


A    WORD   TO    THE   WORLD.  XXV 

gravitated   to   its    own    place    among   the   ce 
lestial    spheres. 

In  saying  thus  much,  I  cannot  so  play 
the  coward  to  my  spiritual  c'onvictious  as  to 
offer  the  slightest  apology  for  any  ideas  I 
may  have  advanced  contrary  to  popular  prej 
udices  or  time-honored  opinions.  O,  thought 
ful  reader  !  if  I  have  offended  thee,  say 
simply  that  these  are  my  convictions  and 
not  yours,  and  do  not  fear  for  the  result; 
for  in  whatsoever  I  purpose  or  perform, 
I  "can  do  nothing  against  the  Truth  —  only 
for  it."  I  do  not  indulge  in  the  conceit 
that  this  little  work  has  any  important  mis 
sion  to  perform,  or  that  it  will  cause  any 
commotion  in  the  literary  world.  But  I 
have  felt,  as  one  by  one  these  poems  have 
been  wrought  out  —  by  general  or  special 
inspiration — from  my  "Inner  Life,"  that  in 
this  matter  I  had  a  work,  simple  though 
it  might  be,  to  do,  and  my  soul  was  sorely 
"straitened  till  it  was  accomplished." 


XXVI  A    WOED   TO   THE   WORLD. 

As  some  of  these  poems,  appearing  at  various 
times,  have  been  severely  criticized  in  the 
past,  so  I  would  say  now,  that  if  any  there 
should  be,  who,  through  biogtry,  or  preju 
dice,  or  a  desire  to  display  their  superior 
wisdom,  should  choose  to  criticize  them  in 
their  present  form  —  to  such  I  shall  make 
no  answer.  But  to  all  those  earnest  and 
inquiring  souls,  who  feel  that  in  such  ex 
periences  as  I  have  described,  or  in  the  re 
sources  from  which  my  soul  has  drawn  its 
supply,  there  is  aught  that  is  attractive  or 
desirable  to  them,  I  would  say,  "  God  speed 
you  in  your  search  for  Truth !  "  At  the 
same  time  let  me  assure  you,  that  in  the 
depths  of  your  own  Inner  Life  there  is  a 
fountain  of  inspiration  and  wisdom,  which, 
if  sought  aright,  will  yield  you  more  abun 
dant  satisfaction  than  any  simple  cup  of  the 
living  water  which  I,  or  any  other  indi 
vidual,  can  place  to  your  lips.  There  are 
invisible  teachers  around  you,  the  hem  of 


A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD.  XXVii 

whose    garments   I    am    unworthy    to    touch. 

"  The    words    that    they   speak    unto    you 

they  are  Spirit  and  they  are  Life."  "  In 
order  to  know  more  you  must  be  more." 
Faith  strikes  its  roots  deep  in  the  spirit, 
and  often  Intuition  is  a  safer  guide  than 
Eeason.  When  a  man,  by  constant  practice, 
has  so  quickened  his  spiritual  perceptions 
that  he  can  receive  conscious  impressions 
from  his  invisible  attendants,  he  will  never 
be  without  counsellors. 

"  Let  Faith  be  given 

To  the  still  tones  that  oft  our  being  waken  — 
They  are  of  Heaven." 

The  Spirit- World  is  not  so  distant  as  it 
seems,  and  the  veil  of  Materiality  which 
hides  it  from  our  view,  by  hopeful  and  un 
tiring  aspiration  can  be  rent  in  twain.  We 
only  need  listen  earnestly  and  attentively, 
and  we  shall  soon  learn  to  keep  step  in 
the  grand  march  of  Life  to  the  music  of 


XXViii  A   WORD   TO   THE   WORLD. 

the  upper  spheres.  As  a  popular  author 
has  beautifully  said,  "  Silence  is  vocal,  if 
we  listen  well."  With  a  sublime  accord,  the 
great  anthem  of  the  Infinite  "rolls  and  re- 

o 

sounds"  through  the  Universe,  and  whosoever 
will,  can  listen  to  that  harmony,  till  all 
special  and  particular  discords  shall  'die  out 
from  the  w  Inner  Life,"  and  the  Heaven  of 
the  celestial  intelligences  shall  blend  with  the 
"  Heaven  within,"  in  perfect  unison ! 


POEMS 


FROM 


THE     INNER    LIFE 


PART   I. 


(i) 


FROM  THE  INNER  LIFE 


THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  SORROWING. 


"  And  there  appeared  an  angel  unto  him  from  heaven  strengthen 
ing  him."  % 

GOD  !  hear  my  prayer ! 
Thou  who  hast  poured  the  essence  of  thy  life 

Into  this  urn,  this  feeble  urn  of  clay ; 
Thou  who  amid  the  tempest's  gloom  and  strife 

Art  the  lone  star  that  guides  me  on  my  way; 
"When  my  crushed  heart,  by  constant  striving  torn, 

Flies  shuddering  from  its  own  impurity, 
And  my  faint  spirit,  by  its  sorrows  worn, 

Turns  with  a  cry  of  anguish  unto  thee  — 
Hear  me,  O  God !   my  'God ! 

(3) 


4  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

O,  this  strange  mingling  in  of  Life  and  Death, 

Of  Soul  and  Substance !     Let  me  comprehend 
The  hidden  secret  of  life's  fleeting  breath, 

My  being's  destiny,  its  aim  and  end. 
Show  me  the  impetus  that  urged  me  forth, 

Upon  my  lone  and  burning  pathway  driven ; 
The  secret  force  that  binds  ine  down  to  earth, 

While  my  sad  spirit  yearns  for  home  and  heaven  — 
Hear  me,  O  God!   my  God! 

The  ruby  life-drops  from  my  heart  are  wrung, 

By  the  deep  conflict  of  my  soul  in  prayer ; 
The  words  lie  burning  on  my  feeble  tongue ; 

Aid  me,  O  Father!   let  me  not  despair. 
Save,  Lord !   I  perish !     Save  me,  ere  I  die ! 

My  rebel  spirit  mocks  at  thy  control  — 
The  raging  billows  rise  to  drown  my  cry; 

The  floods  of  anguish  overwhelm  my  soul  — 
Hear  me,  O  God!  my  God! 

Peace !   peace !     O,  wilful,  wayward  heart,  be  still ! 

For,  lo !   the  messenger  of  God  is  near ; 
Bow  down  submissive  to  the  Father's  will, 

In  "perfect  love"  that  "casteth  out  all  fear." 


THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  SORROWING. 

O,  pitying  Spirit  from  the  home  above ! 

No  longer  shall  my  chastened  heart  rebel ; 
Fold  me,  O  fold  me  in  thine  arms  of  love ! 

I  know  my  Father  "doeth  all  things  well;" 
I  will  not  doubt  his  changeless  love  again. 

Amen  I     My  Heart  repeats,  Amen  ! 
1* 


POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


THE  SONG   OF  TRUTH. 

FROM  the  unseen  throne  of  the  Great  Unknown, 

From  the  Soul  of  All,  I  came ; 
Not  with  the  rock  of  the  earthquake's  shock, 

And  not  with  the  wasting  flame. 
But  silent  and  deep  is  my  onward  sweep, 

Through  the  depths  of  the  boundless  sky  ; 
I  stand  sublime,  through  the  lapse  of  time, 

And  where  God  is,  there  am  I. 

In  the  early  years,  when  the  youthful  spheres, 
From  the  depths  of  Chaos  sprung, 

When  the  heavens  grew  bright  with  the  new-born 

light, 
And  the  stars  in  chorus  sung— - 

To  that  holy  sound,  through  the  space  profound, 
'Mid  their  glittering  ranks  I  trod; 


THE   SONG   OF   TRUTH.  7 

For  I  am  a  part  of  the  Central  Heart, 
Co-equal  and  one  with  God. 

The  world  is  my  child.     Though  wilful  and  wild, 

Yet  I  know  that  she  loves  me  still, 
For  she  thinks  I  fled  with  her  holy  dead, 

Because  of  her  stubborn  will ; 
And  she  weeps  at  night,  when  the  angels  light 

Their  watch-fires  over  the  sky, 
Like  a  maid  o'er  the  grave  of  her  loved  and  brave ; 

But  the  Truth  can  never  die. 

One  by  one,  like  sparks  from  the  sun, 

I  have  counted  the  souls  that  came 
From  the  hand  Divine;  —  all,  all  are  mine, 

And  I  call  them  by  my  name. 
One  by  one,  like  sparks  to  the  sun, 

I  shall  see  them  all  return ; 
Though  tempest-tost,  yet  they  are  not  lost, 

And  not  one  shall  cease  to  burn. 

I  only  speak  to  the  lowly  and  meek, 
To  the  simple  and  child-like  heart, 


8  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

But  I  leave  the  proud  to  their  glittering  shroud, 
And  the  tricks  of  their  cunning  art. 

Like  a  white-winged  dove  from  the  home  of  love, 
Through  the  airy  space  untrod, 

I  come  at  the  cry  which  is  heard  on  high, — 
"Hear  me,  O  God!   my  God!" 


THE    EMBARKATION. 


THE  EMBARKATION. 

"  So  they  left  that  goodly  and  pleasant  city,  which  had  been  their 
resting-place  near  twelve  years.  But  they  knew  they  were  pilgrims, 
and  looked  not  much  to  those  things  ;  but  lifted  their  eyes  to  heaven, 
their  dearest  country,  and  quieted  their  spirits."  —  E.  Winsloiv. 

THE  band  of  Pilgrim  exiles  in  tearful  silence  stood, 

While  thus  putspake,  in  parting,  John  Robinson 
the  good : 

"Fare  thee  well,  my  brave  Miles  Standish!  thou 
hast  a  trusty  sword, 

But  not  with  carnal  weapons  shalt  thou  glorify 
the  Lord. 

Fare  thee  well,  good  Elder  Brewster!  thou  art  a 
man  of  prayer; 

Commend  the  flock  I  give  thee  to  the  holy  Shep 
herd's  care. 

And  thou,  beloved  Carver,  what  shall  I  say  to 
thee? 


10  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

I  have  need,  in  this  my  sorrow,  that  thou  shouldst 

comfort  me. 
In  the    furnace    of  affliction    must    all   be    sharply 

tried ; 
But  nought  prevails  against  us,  if  the  Lord  be  on 

our  side. 
Farewell,   farewell,  my  people!  — go,  and  stay  not 

the  hand, 
But  precious   seed   of  Freedom  sow   ye   broadcast 

through  the  land. 
Ye    may  scatter   it    in    sorrow,    and  water   it  with 

tears, 
But  rejoice  for  those  who  gather  the  fruit  in    after 

years ; 
Ay!    rejoice  that  ye  may  leave  them  an  altar  unto 

God, 
On  the  holy  soil  of  Freedom,  where  no  tyrant's  foot 

hath  trod. 

All  honor  to  our  sovereign,  his  majesty  King  James, 
But  the  King  of  kings  above  us  the  highest  homage 
claims." 


THE   EMBARKATION.  H 

Upon   the    deck    together  they   knelt   them   down 

and  prayed, 
The  husband  and  the    father,  the   matron  and  the 

maid ; 
The  broad    blue  heavens  above    them,  bright  with 

the  summer's  glow, 

And  the  wide,  wide  waste  of  waters,  with  its  treach 
erous  waves  below; 
Around,  the  loved  and  cherished,  whom  they  should 

see  no  more, 
And  the  dark,  uncertain  future  stretching  dimly  on 

before. 
O,  well  might  Edward  Winslow  look  sadly  on  his 

bride ! 

O,  well  might  fair  Rose  Standish  press  to  her  chief 
tain's  side! 
For  with  crucified  affections  they  bowed  the  knee  in 

prayer, 
And  besought   that  God  would  aid  them  to  suffer 

and  to  bear; 
To  bear  the  cross  of  sorrow  —  a  broader  shield  of 

love 

Than  the  Royal  Cross    of  England,    that   proudly 
waved  above. 


12  FOEM9    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

The  balmy  winds  of  summer  swept  o'er   the  glit 
tering  seas  j 

It  brought  the  sign  of  parting — the  white  sails  met 
the  breeze ; 

One  farewell  gush  of  sorrow,  one  prayerful  blessing 
more, 

And  the  bark   that  bore   the   exiles   glided   slowly 
from  the  shore. 

"  Thus  they  left  that  goodly  city,"  o'er  stormy  seas 
to  roam ; 

"  But  they  knew  that  they  were  pilgrims,"  and  this 
world  was  not  their  home. 

There  is  a  God  in  heaven,  whose  purpose  none  may 

tell; 
There  is  a  God   in  heaven,   who   doeth  all  things 

well: 
And   thus    an    infant    nation  was    cradled    on  the 

deep, 
While  hosts  of  holy  angels  were    set  to  guard   its 

sleep ; 
No  seer,  no  priest,  "or  prophet,  read  its  horoscope  at 

birth, 
~No  bard  in  solemn  saga  sung  its  destiny  to  earth, 


THE    EMBARKATION  U  $f  I  V  E  5 

- 

But   slowly,  —  slowly,  —  slowly    as  the  acorn  from 
the  sod, 

It  grew  in  strength  and   grandeur,  and  spread  its 
arms  abroad ; 

The    eyes    of  distant   nations  turned  towards  that 
goodly  tree, 

And  they  saw  how  fair  and  pleasant  were  the  fruits 
of  Liberty ! 

Like  earth's    convulsive   motion   before   the    earth 
quake's  shock, 

Like  the  foaming  of  the  ocean  around  old  Plymouth 
Rock, 

So   the  deathless  love   of  .Freedom  —  the  majesty 
of  Right  — 

In  all  kindred,  and  all  nations,  is  rising  in  its  might ; 

And  words  of  solemn  warning  come  from  the  hon 
ored  dead  — 

"  Woe,  woe  to  the  oppressor  if  righteous  blood  be 
shed ! 

Rush  not   blindly  on  the  future  !    heed  the  lessons 
of  the  past ! 

For  the  feeble  and  the  faithful  are  the  conquerors  at 
last." 

2 


14  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


KEPLER'S   VISION. 


u  How  grand  the  spectacle  of  a  mind  thus  restless .—  thirsting 
with  unquenchable  appetite  after  beauty  and  harmony  !  Never  was 
there  a  finer  example  of  a  spirit  too  vast  to  be  satiated  with  the  few 
truths  around  it,  or  one  that  more  emphatically  foreboded  a  neces 
sary  immortality."  —  Prof.  R.  P.  Nichol. 


UPON  the  clear,  bright,  northern  sky, 

Aurora's  rainbow  arches  gleamed, 
While,  from  their  radiant  source  on  high, 

The  countless  host  of  evening  beamed ; 
Each  moving  in  its  path  of  light  — 

Those  paths  by  Science  then  untrod  — 
The  silent  guardians  of  the  night, 

The  watchers  by  the  throne  of  God. 

Far  np  above  the  gloomy  wood,  — 

The  wavy,  murmuring  wood  of  pine, — 

Upon  the  mountain  side,  there  stood 
A  worshipper  at  Nature's  shrine. 


KEPLER'S  VISION.  15 

His  spirit,  like  a  breathing  lyre, 

At  each  celestial  touch  awoke, 
And  burning  with  a  sacred  fire, 

His  voice  the  solemn  silence  broke. 

O,  glittering  host !    O,  golden  line ! 

I  would  I  had  an  angel's  ken, 
Your  deepest  secrets  to  divine, 

And  read  your  mysteries  to  men. 
The  glorious  truth  is  in  my  soul, 

The  solemn  witness  in  my  heart  — 
Although  ye  move  as  one  great  whole, 

Each  bears  his  own  appointed  part." 


He  slept.      No!   in  a  blissful  trance 

The  feebler  powers  of  Nature  lay, 
While  upward,  o'er  the  vast  expanse, 

His  eager  spirit  swept  away, — 
Away  into  those  fields  of  light, 

By  human  footsteps  unexplored; 
Order  and  beauty  met  his  sight  — 

He  saw,  he  wondered,  and  adored ! 


1(5  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNEIl  LIFE. 

And  o'er  the  vast  area  of  space, 

And  through  the  height  and  depth  profound, 
Each  starless  void  and  shining  place 

Was  filled  with  harmony  of  sound. 
Now,  swelling  like  the  voice  of  seas, 

With  the  full,  rushing  tide  of  years, 
Then,  sighing  like  an  evening  breeze, 

It  died  among  the  distant  spheres. 

Rich  goblets  filled  with  $'  Samian  wine," 

Or  "  Life's  elixir,  sparkling  high," 
Could  not  impart  such  joy  divine 

As  that  full  chorus  of  the  sky. 
He  might  have  heard  the  Orphean  lute, 

Or  caught  the  sound  of  Meranon's  lyre, 
And  yet  his  lips  could  still  be  mute, 

Nor  feel  one  spark  of  kindred  fire. 

But  now,  o'er  ravished  soul  and  sense, 
Such  floods  of  living  music  broke, 

That,  filled  with  rapture  too  intense, 
His  disenchanted  spirit  woke. 

Awoke!   but  not  to  lose  the  sound, 
The  echo  of  that  holy  song; 


KEPLER'S  VISION.  17 

He  breathed  it  to  the  world  around, 
And  others  bore  the  strain  along. 

O,  unto  few  the  power  is  given 

To  pass  beyond  the  bounds  of  Time, 
And  lift  the  radiant  veil  of  Heaven, 

To  view  her  mysteries  sublime. 
Yet  Thou,  in  whose  majestic  light 

The  Source  of  Knowledge  lies  concealed, 
Prepare  us  to  receive  aright 

The  truths  that  yet  shall  be  revealed. 
2* 


18  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


LOVE  AND   LATIN. 

Amo  —  amarc  —  amavi  —  amatum.* 

« 

DEAR  girls,  never  marry  for  knowledge, 

(Though  that  should  of  course  form  a  part,) 
For  often  the  head,  in  a  college, 

Gets  wise  at  the  cost  of  the  heart. 
Let  me  tell  you  a  fact  that  is  real  — 

I  once  had  a  beau  in  my  youth, 
My  brightest  and  best  "beau  ideal" 

Of  manliness,  goodness,  and  truth. 

O,  he  talked  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans, 
Of  Normans,  and  Saxons,  and  Celts, 

And  he  quoted  from  Virgil,  and  Homer, 
And  Plato,  and somebody  else. 

And  he  tdld  me  his  deathless  affection, 
By  means  of  a  thousand  strange  herbs, 

*  Principal  parts  of  the  Latin  verb  amo  —  I  love. 


LOVE    AND   LATIN.  19 

With  numberless  words  in  connection, 
Derived  from  the  roots  of  Greek  verbs. 

One  night,  as  a  sly  innuendo, 

When  Nature  was  mantled  in  snow, 

He  wrote  in  the  frost  on  the  window, 
A  sweet  word  in  Latin  —  "  amo." 

O,  it  needed  no  words  for  expression, 
For  that  I  had  long  understood; 

But  there  was  his  written  confession  — 
t  tense  and  indicative  mood. 


But  O,  how  man's  passion  will  vary! 

For  scarcely  a  year  had  passed  by, 
When  he  changed  the  "  amo  "  to  "  amare," 

But  instead  of  an  "e"  was  a  "y." 
Yes,  a  Mary  had  certainly  taken 

The  heart  once  so  fondly  my  own, 
And  I,  the  rejected,  forsaken, 

Was  left  to  reflection  alone. 

Since  then  I've  a  horror  of  Latin, 
And  students  uncommonly  smart; 


20  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

True  love,  one  should  always  put  that  in, 
To  balance  the  head  by  the  heart. 

To  be  a  fine  scholar  and  linguist 
Is  much  to  one's  credit,  I  know, 

But  "  I  love  "  should  be  said  in  plain  English, 
And  not  with  a  Latin  "  arno." 


THE    FATE   OF    SIR   JOHN    FRANKLIN.  21 


THE  FATE   OF  SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN. 

"  In  March,  of  1854,  says  the  Cleveland  Herald,  several  months 
before  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Rae,  with  his  news  of  the  probable  death 
of  the  brave  Sir  John  Franklin  and  his  faithful  comrades,  we  copied 
from  the  Lily  of  the  Valley  for  1854,  a  beautiful  poem  by  Miss  Lizzie 
Doten,  in  reference  to  these  adventurers.  The  verses  are  touching 
and  solemn  as  the  sound  of  a  passing  bell,  and  appear  almost  pro 
phetic  of  the  news  that  afterwards  came.  '  The  Song  of  the  North ' 
again  becomes  deeply  interesting  as  connected  with  the  thrilling  ac 
count  brought  home  by  the  Fox  — the  last  vessel  sent  in  search  of  the 
lost  adventurers  to  the  icy  North,  and  the  last  that  will  now  ever  be 
sent  on  such  an  expedition."  —  Buffalo  Daily  Republic. 

SONG  OF  THE  NORTH. 

"Aw AT,  away!"  cried  the  stout  Sir  John, 

"  While  the  blossoms  are  on  the  trees, 
For  the  summer  is  short,  and  the  times  speeds  on 

As  we  sail  for  the  northern  seas. 
Ho !   gallant  Crozier,  and  brave  Fitz  James ! 

We  will  startle  the  world,  I  trow, 
When  we  find  a  way  through  the  Northern  seas 

That  never  was  found  till  now! 


22  POiiMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

A  good  stout  ship  is  the  'Erebus,' 

As  ever  unfurled  a  sail, 
And  the  'Terror'  will  match  with  as  brave  a  one 

As  ever  outrode  a  gale." 

So  they  bade  farewell  to  their  pleasant  homes, 

To  the  hills  and  the  valleys  green, 
With  three  hearty  cheers  for  their  native  isle, 

And  three  for  the  English  Queen. 
They  sped  them  away,  beyond  cape  and  bay, 

Where  the  day  and  the  night  are  one  — 
Where  the  hissing  light  in  the  heavens  grew  bright, 

And  flamed  like  a  midnight  sun. 
There  was  nought  below,  save  the  fields  of  snow, 

That  stretched  to  the  icy  pole; 
And  the  Esquimaux,  in  his  strange  canoe, 

Was  the  only  living  soul! 

Along  the  coast,  like  a  giant  host, 

The  glittering  icebergs  frowned, 
Or  they  met  on  the  main,  like  a  battle  plain, 

And  crashed  with  a  fearful  sound ! 
The  seal  and  the  bear,  with  a  curious  stare, 

Looked  down  from  the  frozen  heights, 


THE    FATE   OF   SIR   JOHN   FRANKLIN.  23 

And  the  stars  in  the  skies,  with  their  great,  wild  eyes, 
Peered  out  from  the  Northern  Lights. 

The  gallant  Crozier,  and  brave  Fitz  James, 
And  even  the  stout  Sir  John, 

Felt  a   doubt,   like    a   chill,    through    their    warm 

hearts  thrill, 
As  they  urged  the  good  ships  on. 

They  sped  them  away,  beyond  cape  and  bay, 

Where  even  the  tear-drops  freeze, 
But  no  way  was  found,  by  a  strait  or  sound, 

To  sail  through  the  Northern  seas; 
They  sped  them  away,  beyond  cape  and  bay, 

And  they  sought,  but  they  sought  in  vain, 
For  no  way  was  found,  through  the  ice.  around, 

To  return  to  their  homes  again. 
Then  the  wild  waves  rose,  and  the  waters  froze, 

Till  they  closed  like  a  prison  wall; 
And  the  icebergs  stood  in  the  sullen  flood, 

Like  their  jailers,  grim  and  tall. 
O  God!    O  God! — it  was  hard  to  die 

In  that  prison  house  of  ice ! 
For  what  was  fame,  or  a  mighty  name, 

When  life  was  the  fearful  price? 


24  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

The  gallant  Crozier,  and  brave  Fitz  James, 

And  even  the  stout  Sir  John, 
Had  a  secret  dread,  and  their  hopes  all  fled, 

As  the  weeks  and  the  months  passed  on. 
Then  the  Ice  King  came,  with  his  eyes  of  flame, 

And  looked  on  that  fated  crew; 
His  chilling  breath  was  as  cold  as  death, 

And  it  pierced  their  warm  hearts  through! 
A  heavy  sleep,  that  was  dark  and  deep, 

Came  over  their  weary  eyes, 

And  they  dreamed  strange  dreams  of  the  hills  and 
streams, 

And  the  blue  of  their  native  skies. 

The  Christmas  chimes,  of  the  good  old  times, 

Were  heard  in  each  dying  ear, 
And  the  dancing  feet,  and  the  voices  sweet 

Of  their  wives  and  their  children  dear ! 
But  it  faded  away  —  away  —  away  ! 

Like  a  sound  on  a  distant  shore, 
And  deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  sleep, 

Till  they  slept  to  wake  no  more. 

O,  the  sailor's  wife,  and  the  sailor's  child, 
They  will  weep,  and  watch,  and  pray; 


THE    FATE    OP   SIR   JOHN   FRANKLIN.  25 

And  the  Lady  Jane,  she  will  hope  in  vain, 

As  the  long  years  pass  away! 
The  gallant  Crozier,  and  brave  Fitz  James, 

And  the  good  Sir  John  have  found 
.An   open  way,  to  a  quiet  bay, 

And  a  port  where  we  all  are  bound ! 
Let  the  waters  roar  on  the  ice-bound  shore, 

That  circles  the  frozen  pole; 
But  there  is  no  sleep,  and  no  grave  so  deep, 

That  can  hold  a  human  soul. 
3 


26  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


THE   BURIAL   OF   WEBSTER. 

Low  and  solemn  be  the  requiem  above  the  nation's 
dead; 

Let  fervent  prayers  be  uttered,  and  farewell  bless 
ings  said  ! 

Close  by  the  sheltering  homestead,  beneath  the 
household  tree, 

Where  oft  his  footsteps  lingered,  here  let  the  part 
ing  be ! 

Draw  near  in  solemn  silence,  with  slow  and  meas 
ured  tread; 

Come  with  the  brow  uncovered,  and  gaze  upon  the 
dead! 

How  like  a  fallen  hero,  in  silent  rest  he  lies! 

With  the  seal  of  Death  upon  him,  and  its  dimness 
in  his  eyes! 

Speak!  but  there  comes  no  answer.  That  voice 
of  power  is  still 


THE   BURIAL   OF   WEBSTER.  27 

Which   woke    the    slumbering    Senate    as  with   a 

giant's  will !  — 
That  voice,  which  rang  so  proudly  back  from  the 

echoing  walls, 

In  court  and  civic  council,  and  legislative  halls ; 
Which  summoned  back  those  spirits,  who  long  were 

mute  and  still, — 
The    Pilgrim    sires    of    Plymouth  —  the    dead  .of 

Bunker  Hill,— 
And   in   their  silent   presence  gave   to  the  past   a 

tongue 
Like  that  which  roused  the  nations  when  Freedom's 

war-cry  rung. 
But  now,  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  thunder  of  the 

deep, 
The  battle-shock  of  earthquakes,  cannot  wake  him 

from  his  sleep! 
The  foot  that  trod  so  proudly  upon  the  earth's  green 

sod, 

The  manly  form,  created  in  the  image  of  its  God, 
The   brow,   where  mental    greatness   had    set    her 

noblest  seal, 
The  lip,  whence  thoughts  were  uttered  like  shafts 

of  polished  steel,  — 


23  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

All,  all  of  these  shall  moulder  back  to  their  parent 

earth, 
Back  to  the  silent  bosom  from  whence  they  sprang 

to  birth ! 
The  man,  —  the   living  Webster,  —  passed   with   a 

fleeting  breath ! 
Alas,   for   human  greatness!  —  the   end   thereof  is 

death ! 
O !   what   is  earthly  glory  ?    Ask   Caesar,  when  he 

fell 
At  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue,  slain  by  those  he 

loved  too  well ; 
Ask  the    Carthaginian  hero,  who   kept  his  fearful 

vow; 
Ask  Napoleon   in  his   exile;   ask  the  dead  before 

ye  now;  — 
And  one  answer,  and  one  only,  in  the  light  of  truth 

is  given : 
"Man's  highest  earthly  glory  is  to  do  the  will  of 

Heaven ; 
To  rise    and   battle   bravely,  with    dauntless  moral 

might, 
In  the  holy  cause  of  Freedom,  and  the  triumph  of 

the  Right!"      - 


THE   BURIAL   OF   WEBSTER.  29 

For   by  this   simple    standard   shall   all  at  last  be 

tried, 
And  not  by  earthly  glory,  or  works  of  human  pride. 

O  Webster!   thou  wast  mighty  among  thy  fellow- 
men; 
And   he  who  seeks  to  judge  thee  must  be   what 

thou  hast  been;  — 
Must   feel    thine    aspirations    for    higher    aims    in 

life, 
And  know  the  stern  temptations  that   urged  thee 

in  the  strife; 
Must  let  his  heart  flow  largely  from  out  its  narrow 

span, 
And  meet  thee  freely,  fairly,  as  man  should   meet 

with  man. 
What   was  lost,   and   what  resisted,  is  known   to 

One  alone: 
Then  let  him   who  stands   here  guiltless  "be  first 

to  cast  a  stone  "  ! 

Farewell!    We  give,  with  mourning,  back  to  thy 

mother  Earth 

The  robes  thy  soul  rejected  at  its  celestial  birth! 
3* 


80  POZMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

A  mightier  one  and  stronger  may  stand  where  thou 
wast  tried, 

Yet  he  shall  be  the  wiser  that  thou  hast  lived  and 
died; 

Thy  greatness  be  his  glory,  thine  errors  let  him 
shun, 

And  let  him  finish  nobly  what  thou  hast  left  un 
done. 

Farewell !     The  granite  mountains,  the  hill-side,  and 

the  sea, 
Thy  harvest-fields  and  orchards,  will  all  lament  for 

thee ! 
Farewell !     A  mighty  nation  awards  thee  deathless 

fame, 
And    future    generations    shall    honor   WEBSTER'S 

name ! 


THE   PARTING   OF   SIGURD   AND   GERDA.  31 


THE  PARTING  OF  SIC  URD  AND  GERDA. 

"  He  is  a  strong,  proud  man,  t-ich  as  r.  woman  might,  with  pride, 
call  her  partner  — 'if  only  — O!  if  he  would  but  understand  her  na 
ture,  and  allow  it  to  be  worth  something.'"  —  See  Miss  Bremer's 
"  Brothers  and  Sisters." 

SHE  stood  beneath  the  moonlight  pale, 

With  calm,  uplifted  eye, 
While  all  her  being,  weak  and  frail, 

Thrilled  with  her  purpose  high; 
For  she,  the  long  affianced  bride, 

Must  seal  the  fount  of  tears, 
And  break,  with  woman's  lofty  pride, 

The  plighted  faith  of  years. 

Ay!   she  had  loved  as  in  a  dream, 

And  woke,  at  length,  to  find 
How  coldly  on  her  spirit  gleamed 

The  dazzling  light  of  mind. 
For  little  was  the  true,  deep  love 


•32  !  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Of  that  pure  spirit  known 
To  him,  the  cold,  the  selfish  one, 
Who  claimed  her  as  his  own. 

And  what  to  him  were  all  her  dreams 

Of  purer,  holier  life? 
Such  idle  fancies  ill  became 

A  meek,  submissive  wife. 
And  what  were  all  her  yearnings  high 

For  God  and  "Fatherland" 
But  vain  chimeras,  lofty  flights, 

While  Sigurd  held  her  hand? 

And  then  uprose  the  bitter  thought, 

"  Why  bow  to  his  control  ? 
Why  sacrifice,  before  his  pride, 

The  freedom  of  my  soul  ? 
Better  to  break  the  golden  chain, 

And  live  and  love  apart, 
Than  feel  the  galling,  grinding  links 

Wearing  upon  my  heart." 

He  came,  —  and,  with  a  soft,  low  voice, 
In  the  pale  gleaming  light, 


„ 

THE  PARTING  OF  SIGURD   ANI/f^^4  ^       ^3.  5  1 

u 


She  laid  her  gentle  hand  in  hi 

"  Sigurd,  we  part  to-night. 
Long  have  these  bitter  words  been  kept 

Within  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  often  have  I  lonely  wept, — 

I  never  can  be  thine." 

Proudly,  with  folded  arms  he  stood, 

And  cold,  sarcastic  smile  — 
"Ha!   this  is  but  a  wayward  mood, 

An  artful  woman's  wile. 
But  this  I  know:   so  long  —  so  long 

I've  held  thee  to  thy  vow, 
That  I  have  made  the  bond  too  strong 

For  thee  to  break  it  now." 

"You  know  me  not;  —  my  lofty  pride 

Was  hidden  from  your  eyes; 
But  you  have  crushed  it  down  so  low 

It  gives  me  strength  to  rise. 
O !   all  my  bitter,  burning  thoughts 

I  may  not,  dare  not  tell ! 
Sigurd,  my  loved — forever  loved! 

Farewell  !   once  more,  farewell !  " 


34  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

One  moment,  and  those  loving  arms 

Were  gently  round  him  thrown ; 
One  moment,  and  those  quivering  lips 

Pressed  lightly  to  his  own: 
And  then  he  stood  alone  !   alone  ! 

With  eyes  too  proud  for  tears; 
Yet  o'er  his  stern,  cold  heart  was  thrown 

The  burning  blight  of  years. 

O  man  !   so  God-like  in  thy  strength, 

Preeminent  in  mind, 
Seek  not  with  these  high  gifts  alone, 

A  woman's  heart  to  bind. 
For,  timid  as  a  shrinking  fawn, 

Yet  faithful  as  a  dove, 
She  clings  through  life  and  death  to  thee, 

Won  by  thine  earnest  love. 


THE  MEETING  OF   SIGUKD   AND  GEKDA.  35 


THE  MEETING   OF  SIGURD   AND   GERDA. 


"  And  beautiful  now  stood  they  there,  man  and  woman ;  no  longer 
pale;  eye  to  eye,  hand  to  hand,  as  equals,  —  as  partners  in  the  light 
of  heaven."—  See  Miss  Bremer's  "Brothers  and  Sisters." 


"  O,  EARLY  love  !   O,  early  love  ! 

Why  does  this  memory  haunt  me  yet  ? 
Peace  !   I  invoke  thee  from  above,  — 

I  cannot,  though  I  would,  forget. 
How  I  have  sought,  with  prayers  and  tears, 

To  quench  this  wasting  passion-flame  ! 
But  after  long,  long,  weary  years, 

It  burns  within  my  heart  the  same. " 

She  wept  —  poor,  sorrowing  Gerda  wept, 
In  the  dark  pine-wood  wandering  lone, 

While  cold  the  night-winds  past  her  swept, 
And  bright  the  stars  above  her  shone. 

Poor,  suffering  dove  !   her  song  was  hushed, 


86  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

4 

The  blithesome  song  of  other  days, 
Yet,  O  !  when  such  true  hearts  are  crushed, 
breathe  their  holiest,  sweetest  lays. 


A  step  was  heard.      Her  heart  beat  high  ; 

Through  the  dim  shadows  of  the  wood 
She  glanced  with  quick  and  anxious  eye  — 

Lo  !    Sigurd  by  her  stood  ;  — 
And  as  the  moon's  pale,  quivering  rays 

Stole  through  that  lonely  place, 
He  stood,  with  calm,  impassioned  gaze 

Fixed  on  her  tearful  face. 

"  Gerda,"  he  said,  "  I  come  to  speak 

A  long,  a  last  farewell  ; 
Some  distant  land  and  home  I  seek, 

Far,  far  from  thee  to  dwell. 
O,  since  I  lost  thee,  gentle  one, 

My  truest  and  my  best, 
I  have  rushed  madly,  blindly  on, 

Nor  dared  to  think  of  rest. 

"The  night  that  spreads  her  starry  wing 
Beyond  the  Northern  Sea, 


THE   MEETING   OF   SIGURD   AND   GERDA.          37 

Does  not  a  deeper  darkness  bring 

Than  that  which  rests  on  me. 
Yet,  no  !   I  will  not  ask  thy  tears 

For  my  deep  tale  of  woe  ; 
Forgetfulness  will  come  with  years  ; 

Gerda  —  my  love  —  I  go  !  " 

"  Stay  !    Sigurd,  stay  !     O,  why  depart  ? 

See,  at  thy  feet  I  bow  ; 
O,  cherished  idol  of  my  heart, 

Reject  —  reject  me  now  !  " 
But  not  upon  the  cold,  damp  ground, 

Her  bended  knee  she  pressed  ; 
Upheld,  and  firmly  clasped  around, 

She  wept  upon  his  breast. 

"  Reject  thee  ?   No  !     When  earth  rejects 

The  sunshine's  summer  glow, 
When  Heaven  one  suppliant's  prayer  neglects, 

Then  will  I  bid  thee  go. 
And,  by  the  watching  stars  above, 

And  by  all  things  divine, 
I  swear  to  cherish  and  to  love 
This  heart  that  beats  to  mine  ! " 
4 


38  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

O,  holy  sense  of  wrongs  forgot, 

And  injuries  forgiven  ! 
The  human  heart  that  feels  thee  not, 

Knows  not  the  peace  of  Heaven. 
Ye  blessed  spirits  from  above, 

Who  guide  us  while  we  live, 
O,  teach  us  also  how  to  love, 

And  freely  to  forgive. 


POEMS 


THE    INNER    LIFE. 


PART  II. 


(39) 


THE  succeeding  poems  were  given  under 
direct  spirit  influence  before  public  audiences. 
For  many  of  them  I  could  not  obtain  the 
authorship,  but  for  such  as  I  could,  the  names 
are  given. 

(40) 


POEMS 

FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 


THE  SPIRIT-CHILD. 


O,  THOU  holy  Heaven  above  us! 
O,  ye  angel  hosts  who  love  us! 
Ye  alone  know  how  to  prove  us 

By  the  discipline  of  life  — 
That  we  faint  not  in  endeavor, 
But  with  cheerful  courage  ever 

Rise  victorious  in  the  strife. 

O,  my  sister!    O,  my  brother 
I  was   once  a  mortal  mother; 

4*  (41) 


42  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 

One  sweet  blossom,  and  no  other, 

Bloomed  upon  the  household  tree : 
Very  fragile,  very  tender, 
Very  beautiful  and  slender  — 
He  was  dear  as  life  to  me. 

• 

All  the  spring-time's  fresh  unfolding, 
All  of  Art's  exquisite  moulding, 
All  that  thrills  one  in  beholding, 

Centred  in  that  fair  young  face; 
While  an  angel-tempered  gladness, 
Almost  blending  into  sadness, 

Filled  him  with  a  nameless  grace. 

And  I  loved  him  without  measure; 
O,  a  ceaseless  fount  of  pleasure 
Found  I  in  that  little  treasure ! 

And  my  heart  grew  good  and  great, 
As  I  thanked  the  God  of  Heaven 
That  this  precious  one  was  given 

Thus  to  cheer  my  low  estate. 

But,  with  all  my  prayers  ascending, 
I  could  hear  a  low  voice  blending, 


THE    SPIRIT-CHILD.  48 

Like  some  benison  descending, 

Saying,  "Place  thy  hopes  above; 

For  the  test  of  all  affection 

Is  the  full  and  free  rejection 
Of  all  selfishness  in  love." 

Then  I  felt  a  sad  foreboding, 
All  my  soul  to   anguish  goading, 
All  my  inward  peace  corroding; 

And  my  rebel  heart  begun, 
Crying  wildly,  that  I  would  not 
Yield  my  precious  one  —  I  could  not 

Say,  "Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 

Spring-time  came  with  genial  showers, 
Bursting  buds  and  opening  flowers, 
Singing  birds  and  sunny  hours, 

Pilling  heaven  and  earth  with  light. 
But  the  Summer  —  fair  deceiver!  — 
Came  with  pestilence  and  fever, 

Came  my  little  bud  to  blight. 

O'er  my  threshold  silent  stealing, 
Chilling  every  sense  and  feeling, 


44  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

All  the  fount  of  grief  unsealing, 

Came  the  great  white  angel,  Death  ; 
And  my  flower  upon  my  bosom 
Withered,  like  an  early  blossom 

Stricken  by  the  north  wind's  breath. 

And  I  saw  him  weakly  lying, 

Heard  his  parched  lips  faintly  sighing, 

Knew  that  lie  was  dying  —  dying! 

And  my  love  was  vain  to  save ! 
All  my  wild,  impassioned  pleading, 
All  my  fervent  interceding, 

Could  not  triumph  o'er  the  grave. 

Vainly  did  I  crave  permission, 
That  my  anxious,  tearful  vision, 
Might  behold  the  land  Elysian —  - 

Forth  into  the  unknown  dark, 
On  that  broad,  mysterious  river, 
Did  the  hand  of  God,  the  Giver, 

Launch  that  little,  fragile  bark. 

Then  my  brain  grew  wild  to  madness, 
Changing  to  a  sullen  sadness, 


THE   SPIRTT-CHTLD.  45 

Tempered  by  no  ray  of  gladness ; 

And  I  cursed  the  God  above, 
That,  with  Heaven  all  full  of  angels, 
Sounding  forth  their  glad  evangels, 

He  should  take  my  little  dove. 

Then  my  eyelids  knew  no  sleeping: 
Once  my  midnight  watch  while  keeping, 
I  had  wept  beyond  all  weeping, — 

Suddenly  there  seemed  to  fall 
From  my  spiritual  being, 
From  my  inward  sense  of  seeing, 

Scales,  as  from  the  eyes  of  Paul. 

Heavenly  gales  were  round  me  playing, 
Angel  hands  my  soul  were  staying, 
And  I  heard  a  clear  voice  saying, 

"  Come  up  hither,  —  come  and  see ! 
O,  thou  sorrow-stricken  mother ! 
Unto  thee,  as  to  none  other, 

Heaven  unfolds  her  mystery." 

God's  own  Spirit  seemed  to  move  me, 
All  the  Heaven  grew  bright  above  me, 


46  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

All  the  angels  seemed  to  love  me, — 

Waved  their  white  hands  as  they  smiled  ; 
And  one,  fair  as  Summer  moonlight, 
Crowned  with  starry  gems  of  midnight, 
Brought  to  me  my  angel  child. 

Like  a  flower  in  sunshine  blowing, 
Cheeks,  and  lips,  and  eyes  were  glowing,  — 
I  could  see  that  he  was  growing 

Fairer  than  the  things  of  earth. 
"Thou  mayst  take  him,"  said  the  spirit, 
"Back  to  earth,  there  to  inherit 

All  the  woes  of  mortal  birth." 

I  had  need  of  no  advising; 
In  divinest  strength  arising, 
All  my  selfishness  despising, — 

"Nay!"  I   cried;    "now  first  I  know 
What  it  is  to  be  a  mother, 
To  give  being  to  another 

Living  soul,  for  joy  or  woe. 

"Keep  him  in  these  heavenly  places, 
Fold  him  in  your  pure  embracjs, 


THE   SPIRIT-CHILD.  47 

Teach  him  the  divinest  graces: 

.1  return  to  earth  again; 
Not  to  sit  and  weep  supinely, 
But  to  live  and  love  divinely." 

And  the  angels  said,  "Amen!" 

O  thou  holy  Heaven  above  us! 
0  ye  angel  hosts  who  love  us ! 
Ye  alone  know  how  to  prove  us, 

By  the  discipline  of  life, 

That  we  faint  riot  in  endeavor, 
But  with  cheerful  courage  ever 

Rise  victorious  in  the  strife. 


48  POEMS    PROM    THE    INNER   LIFE. 


RECONCILIATION. 

GOD  of  the  Granite  and  the  Rose ! 

Soul  of  the  Sparrow  and  the  Bee ! 
The  mighty  tide  of  Being  flows 

Through  countless  channels,  Lord,  from  thee. 
It  leaps  to  life  in  grass  and  flowers, 

Through  every  grade  of  being  runs, 
Till  from  Creation's  radiant  towers 

Its  glory  flames  in  stars  and  suns. 

O,  ye  who  sit  and  gaze  on  life 

With  folded  hands  and  fettered  will, 
Who  only  see,  amid  the  strife, 

The  dark  supremacy  of  ill,  — 
Know,  that  like  birds,  and  streams,  and  flowers, 

The  life  that  moves  you  is  divine ! 
Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  human  powers, 

Your  Godlike  spirit  can  confine. 


RECONCILIATION.  49 

Once,  in  a  form  of  human  mould, 

Upon  this  earthly  plane  I  trod  ; 
My  faith  was  weak,  my  heart  was  cold, — 

I  had  no  hope,  I  knew  not  God. 
Deep  from  my  being's  cup  I  quaffed, 

With  Life's  Elixir  brimming  o'er, 
And  madly  sought  to  drain  the  draught, 

That  I  might  die,  to  live  no  more ! 

There  came  an  angel  to  my  side  — 

Not  from  the  bowers  of  Paradise  — 
She  was  mine  own,  mine  earthly  bride, 

With  Heaven's  pure  sunshine  in  her  eyes. 
She  wept  and  prayed,  she  knew  not  why — . 

Her  Faith,  not  Reason,  soared  above  : 
She  talked  of  God  and   Heaven  —  and  I  — 

Well  —  I  was  happy  in  her  love. 

Love  was  my  all,  my  guiding  star, 
And  like  a  wanderer  in  the  night, 

I  hailed  its  radiance  from  afar, 

Because  it  shone  with  certain  light ; 

But  all  those  visions,  bright  and  high, 
Which  the  pure-hearted  only  see, 
5 


50  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Of  God  and  Immortality, 

Could  not  reveal  tlieir  light  to  me. 

At  length  my  precious  one,  my  wife, 
Held   on  her  bosom's  sacred   shrine 

A  tender  form,  —  an  infant  life, — 
The  union  of  her  soul  and  mine. 

0  God !    above  that  precious  child 
First  did  I  breathe  thy  holy  name, 

While  strong  emotions,  deep  and  wild, 
Shook  like  a  reed  my  manly  frame. 

1  prayed  for  Heaven's  eternal  years; 

I  prayed  for  light,  that  I  might  see; 
And  even  with  stern  manhood's  tears, 

I  prayed  for  faith,  O  God,  in   Thee. 
O,  this  poor  world  seemed  fir  too  small 

To  hold  the  measure  of  my  love ! 
They  were  my  God,  my  Heaven,  my  All 

My  precious  wife,  my  nestling  clove. 

Ay,  then  there  came  a  fearful  clay, 

A  day  of  sorrow  and  of  pain, 
When,  like  a  helpless  child,  I  lay, 


RECONCILIATION.  51 

And  fever  burned  in  every  vein. 
Weeks  came  and  went,  they  went   and  came, 

Till  Faith  was  Fear,  and  Hope  had  died, 
And  I  could  only  breathe  the  name 

Of  the  lone  watcher  at  my  side. 

With  patient  love  that  could  not  fail, 

And  anxious  care  that  knew  no  rest, 
She  sat,  like  a  Madonna,  pale, 

With  our  sweet  infant   on  her  breast. 
For  them  I  beat  Life's  stormy  wave, 

And  struggled,  face  to  face,  with  deatli ; 
For  them  I  tarried  from  the  grave, 

And  firmly  held  my  mortal  breath. 

But  faint  and  weak  at  length  I  lay, 

While  darkness  gathered  over  all  — 
I  felt  my  pulses  fluttering  play 

Like  Autumn  leaves  about  to  fall. 
My  poor,  tired  heart  could  do  no  more, 

But  yielded  the  unequal  strife  ; 
Ay,  then  I  prayed,  as  ne'er  Jbefore, 

That  I  might  have  Eternal  Life. 


52  POEMS    FROM   THE    INNER   LIFE. 

O  God !    my  sainted  mother's  face 

Gleamed  through   the   deepening   shades    of 

death, 
And  from  her  lips  these   words  of  grace 

Fell  gently  as  the  evening's  breath : 
"  Child  of  my  love,  I  gave  to  earth 

Thy  mortal  form  in  grief  and  pain- — 
Lo!   now,  in   this,   thy   second  birth, 

I  lend  my  strength  to   thee   again." 

That  angel-presence  stood  revealed, 

To  her  who  sat  beside  my  bed ; 
Our  quivering  lips  Love's   compact  sealed, 

And  one,  brief,  parting  word  was  said. 
Then,  leaning  like  a  weary  child 

My  head  upon  my  mother's  breast, 
She  bore  me,  changed   and  reconciled, 

To  the  fair  dwellings  of  the  blest. 

But  oft  at  morn,   or  close   of  day, 

I  feel  the  love  that  toward  me  yearns, 

And  earthward,  o'er  the  starry  way, 
My  answering  spirit  gladly  turns. 

O  Death!    O  Grave!    before  Heaven's  light 


EECONCILIATION.  53 

Thy  gloomy  phantoms  quickly  fly; 
And  man  shall  learn  this  truth  aright  — 
That  he  must  cJiange,  but  shall  not  die! 

Shall  change,  as  doth  the  summer  rose, 

The  evening  light,  the   closing  year; 
Shall  sink  into  a  sweet  repose, 

To  waken  in   a  happier  sphere ;  — 
Shall  fall,  as  falls  the  harvest  grain  — 

The  ripened  ears  of  golden  corn, 
Which  yields  its  life,  that  yet  again, 

Through  ceaseless  change,  it  be  re-born. 

God  of  the  Granite  and  the  Rose ! 

Soul  of  the  Sparrow  and  the  Bee ! 
The  mighty  tide   of  Being  flows 

Through  all  thy  creatures  back  to  Thee. 
Thus  round  and  round  the  circle  runs  — 

A  mighty  sea  without  a  shore  — 
While  men  and  angels,  stars  and  suns, 

Unite  to  praise  Thee  evermore! 
5* 


54  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 


HOPE   FOR   THE   SORROWING. 

[A  poem  delivered  at  the  funeral  service  of  Mr.  Henry  L.  Kingman, 
of  North  Bridgewater,  Mass.,  November,  1862.] 

YE  holy  ministers  of  Love, 

Blest  dwellers  in  the  upper  spheres, 

In  vain  we  fix  our  gaze  above, 
For  we  are  blinded  by  our  tears. 

O,  tell  us  to  what  land  unknown 

The  soul  of  him  we  love  has  flown? 

He  left  us  when  his  manly  heart 

With  earnest  hope  was  beating  high; 

Too  soon  it  seemed  for  us  to  part ; 
Too  'Soon,  alas!    for  him  to  die. 

We  have  the  tenement  of  clay, 

But  aye  the  soul  has  passed  away. 

Away,  into  the  unknown   dark, 

With  fearless  heart  and  steady  hand, 


HOPE    OF   THE   SORROWING.  55 

He  calmly  launched  his  fragile  bark, 
To  seek  the  spirits'  Father  Land. 
Say,  has  he  reached  some  distant  shore, 
To  speak  with  us  on  earth  no  more  i 

We  gaze  into  unmeasured  space, 

And  lift  our  tearful  eyes  above, 
To  catch  the  gleaming  of  his  face, 

Or  one  light  whisper  of  his  love. 
O  God!    O  Angels!    hear  our  cry, 
Nor  let  our  faith  in  darkness  die ! 

Hark !   for  a  voice  of  gentle  tone 
The  answer  to  our  cry  hath  given, 

Soft  as  ^Eolian  harpstrings  blown, 
Responsive  to  the  breath  of  even  — 

"  I  have  not  sought  a  distant  shore ; 

Lo !    I  am  with  you  —  weep  no  more. 

"Ay!    Love  is  stronger  far  than  death, 

And  wins  the  victory  o'er  the  Grave ; 
Dependent  on  no  mortal  breath, 

Its  mission  is  to  guide  and  save. 
Above  the  wrecks  of  Death  and  Time, 
It  triumphs,  changeless  and  sublime. 


56-,-          ,    KPOffts  F60M    THE   INNER  LIFE. 

":        ' 


-"•Still,  shall  my  love  its  vigils  keep, 
True  as  the  needle  to  the  pole, 
For  Death  is  not  a  dreamless  sleep, 
Nor  is  the  Grave  man's  final  goal. 

O 

The  larger  growth,  —  the  life  divine,  — 
All  that  I  hoped  or  wished,  are  mine." 

Blest  spirit!    we  will  weep  no  more, 
But  lay  our  selfishness  to  rest; 

The  Providence,  which  we  adore, 
Has  ordered  all  things  for  the  best. 

Life's  battle  fought,  the  victory  won, 

To  nobler  toils  pass  on!   pass  on! 


COMPENSATION. ..„,,„    .    «  «  .  ~ 

L'\          •. 

\^- 


COMPENSATION. 

OUT  in  the  desolate  midnight, 

Out  in  the  cold  and  rain, 
With  the  bitter,  bleak  winds  of  winter 

Driving  across  the  plain  — 
In  the  ghastly  gloom  of  the  churchyard, 

Crouching  behind  a  stone, 
Fleeing  from  what  is  called  Justice, 

I  was  safe  with  the  dead  alone. 

All  of  the  madness  and  evil 

That  into  my  nature  was  cast; 
All  of  the  demon  or  devil 

Had  filled  up  its  measure  at  last. 
Blood,  on  my  hands,  of  a  brother! 

Blood  —  an  indelible   stain! 
Burning,  and  smarting,  and  eating 

Into  my  heart  and  my  brain. 


58  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Iii  woe  and  iniquity  shapen, 

Conceived  by  my  mother  in  sin, 
Forecast  in  a  soil  of  pollution. 

Did  the  life  of  my  being  begin. 
I  chose  not  the  nature  within  me; 

I  was  fated  and  fashioned  by  birth; 
Foreordained  to  the  darkness  and  evil, 

The  sins  and  the  sorrows  of  earth! 

The  World  was  my  foe  ere  it  knew  me ; 

It  scattered  its  snares  in  my  path : 
Like  a  serpent,  it  charmed  and  it  drew  me, 

Then  met  me  with  judgment  and  wrath! 
I  saw  that  the  strong  crushed  the  weaker, 

That  wickedness  won  in  the  strife, 
And  the  greatest  of  crimes  and  of  curses 

Was  the  lot  of  a  beggar  in  life ! 

E'en  the  arm  of  God's  mercy  seemed  shorten e •', 
For  all  ';hat  could  gladden  or  save ; 

The  child  of  my  love,  and  its  mother, 
Were  laid  in  the  pitiless  grave! 

Then,  weakened  and  wasted  by  hunger  — 
Ay,  farrlshed  without  and  within  — 


COMPENSATION.  59 

All  homeless,  and  hopeless,  and  friendless, 
O,  what  was  there  left  me  but  sin? 

I  met  in  the  wood-path  a  lordling, 

Arrayed  in  his  garments  of  pride, 
And,  like  Moses  who  slew  the  Egyptian, 

I  smote  him  so  sore  that  he  died! 
O,  the  blood  on  my  hands  and  my  garments! 

O,  the  terrible  face  of  the  dead! 
His  gold  could  not  tempt  me  to  linger  — 

I  turned  in  my  horror,  and  fled! 

I  fled,  but  a  terrible  phantom 

Pursued  like  a  demon  of  wrath ; 
In  the  forest,  the  field,  or  the  churchyard, 

Its  footsteps  were  close  on  my  path ; 
And  there,  on  tho  grave  of  my  loved  ones, 

As  freezing  and  famished  I  lay, 
I  was  seized  by  the  human  avenger, 

And  borne  to  the  judgment  away ! 

O,  the  prison !    the  sentence !    the  gallows ! 
That  last  fearful  struggle  for  breath! 


fiO  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE, 

The  rush,  and  the  roar,  and  confusion, 
The  depth  and  the  darkness  of  death ! 

0  man !    I  have  sinned  and  have  suffered  5 
The  climax  of  evil  is  past ; 

But  the  justice  of  time  may  determine 
That  you  were  more  guilty  at  last  ! 

Then  long  did  I  struggle  with  phantoms, 
And  wandered  in  darkness  and  night, 

Till  there  came  to  my  soul,  in  its  prison, 
The  form  of  an  Angel  of  Light. 

1  thought,  in  my  blindness  and  darkness, 
That  he  was  the  Infinite  God, 

Who  had  come  in  the  might  of  his  vengeance 
To  smite  with  his  merciless  rod. 

So  I  cursed  Him  —  and  cursed  Him — and  cursed 
Him! 

That  He,  in  his  greatness  and  power, 
Had  summoned  my  soul  into  being, 

And  made  me  to  suffer  one  hour. 
I  cursed  Him  for  all  of  my  sorrow, 

For  all  of  ray  weakness  and  sin, 


COMPENSATION.  61 

For  all  of  my  hatred  and  evil, 
For  darkness  without  and  within. 

My  words  were  all  molten  and  glowing, 

As  if  from  a  furnace  they  came, 
And  the  breath  of  my  wrath  made  them  hotter, 

Till  they  burned  with  the  fierceness  of  flame. 
Then  a  light  that  was  in  me  grew  brighter, 

Like  sunshine  poured  into  the  heart; 
I  felt  all  my  burdens  grow  lighter, 

And  the  dross  from  my  nature  depart. 

"  My  brother,"  replied  the  bright  Ancjel, 

"  Let  the  name  of  the  Highest  be  blessed ! 
Lo !  he  renders  thee  blessing  for  cursing ! 

His  will  and  His  way  are  the  best. 
Thy  soul  in  His  sight  hath  been  precious, 

Since  the  birth  of  thy  being  began  ; 
Thou  art  judged  by  the  need  of  thy  nature, 

And  not  by  the  standard  of  man." 

Then  out  of  my  cursing  and  madness, 

And  out  of  the  furnace  of  flame, 
My  sou],  like  a  jewel  of  beauty, 
6 


62  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Annealed  through  life's  processes  came. 
The  forms  of  my  loved  ones  were  near  me, 

The  night  of  my  sorrow  had  passed; 
God  grant  yon,  O  mortals,  who  judged  me, 

As  full  an  acceptance  at  last! 


THE  EAGLE   OF   FREEDOM.  63 


THE  EAGLE   OF  FREEDOM. 

O,  LAND  of  our  glory,  our  boast,  and  our  pride ! 
Where  the  brave  and  the  fearless  for  Freedom  have 

died, 
Plow    clear    is   the    lustre    that   beams'  from    thy 

name ! 

How  bright  on  thy  brow  are  the  laurels  of  fame ! 
The  stars  of  thy  Union  still  burn  in  the  sky, 
And  the  scream  of  thine  Eagle  is  heard  from  on 

high ! 

His  eyrie  is  built  where  no  foe  can  invade, 
Nor  traitors  prevail  with  the  brand  and  the  blade ! 

CHORUS. 

The  Eagle  of  Freedom,  in  danger  and  night, 
Keeps    watch    o'er   our   flag   from    his    star-circled 

height. 
From  mountain  and  valley,  from  hill-top  and  sen. 


64  POEMS    FiiOM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Three  cheers  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free  ! 

Hurrah !    Hurrah ! 
Hurrah  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free ! 

Mount  up,  O  thou  Eagle!  and  rend,  in  thy  flight, 
The  war-cloud  that  hides  our  broad  banner  from 

sight ! 
Guard,  guard  it  from  danger,  though  war-rent  and 

worn, 

And  see  that  no  star  from  its  azure  is  torn! 
Keep  thy  breast  to   the   storm,  and  thine    eye    on 

the  sun, 

Till,  true  to  our  motto,  THE  MANY  ARE  ONE  ! 
Till  the  red  rage  of  war  with  its  tumult  shall  cease, 
And  the  dove  shall  return  with  the  olive  of  peace. 

CHOKUS. 

The  Eagle  of  Freedom,  in  danger  and  night, 
Keeps   watch   o'er   our    flag    from   his   star-lighted 

height. 

From  mountain  and  valley,  from  hill-side  and  sea, 
Three  cheers  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free ! 

Hurrah !    Hurrah ! 
Hurrah  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free  ! 


THE   EAGLE   OF   FREEDOM.  65 

O,  sons  of  the  mighty,  the  true,  and  the  brave ! 

The  souls  of  your  heroes  rest  not  in  the  grave  : 

The  holy  libation  to  Liberty  poured, 

Hath  streamed,  not  in  vain,  from  the  blood-crim 
soned  sword. 

Henceforth,  with  your  Star-Spangled  Banner  un 
furled, 

Your  might  shall  be  felt  to  the  ends  of  the  world, 

And  rising  Republics,  like  nebula?,  gleam, 

Wherever  the  stars  of  your  nation  shall  beam. 

CHORUS. 

The  Eagle  of  Freedom,  sublime  in  his  flight, 
Shall  rest  on  your  banner,  encircled  with  light ; 
And   then   shall  the   chorus,  in   unison   be, 
Three  cheers  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free ! 

Hurrah !    Hurrah ! 

Hurrah  for  the  Eagle,  the  Bird  of  the  Free! 
6* 


66  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


MISTRESS   GLENARE.       . 

BY    "  MARIAN." 

A  VIRTUOUS  woman  is'  Mistress  Glenarc  — 

Or,  at  least,  so  the  world  in  its  judgment  would 

say;  — 
With  an  orderly  walk  and  a  circumspect  air, 

She  never  departs  from  the  popular  way. 
Every  word  that  she  speaks  is  well  measured  and 
weighed  ; 

Her  friends  are  selected  with  scrupulous  cnre ; 
And  in  all  that  she  does  is  her  prudence  displayed, 

For  a  virtuous  woman  is  Mistress  Glenare! 

Her  youth  has  departed,  and  with  it  has  fled 
The    impulse   which   gives  to  the   blood   a   new 

start, 
Which  oftentimes  turns  from  the  reasoning  head, 


MISTRESS   GLENARE.  67 

To  trust   to  the  wisdom  of  God  in  the  heart. 
Thus  the  robes   of  her  purity  never  are  stained, 

And  her  feet  are  withheld  from  the   pitfall  and 

snare  ; 
Where  nothing  is  ventured,  there  nothing  is  gained: 

O,  a  virtuous  woman  is  Mistress  Glenare ! 

She  makes  no  distinction  of  sinners  from  sin; 

Her  words  are  like  arrows,  her  tongue  is  a  rod; 
She   sees  no  excuse  for  the  evil  within, 

But  condemns  with  the  zeal  of  a  partialist  God ! 
On  a  background  of  darkness,  of  sorrow  and  shame, 

Her  own  reputation  looks  stainless  and  fair; 
So  she  builds  up  her  fame,  through  her  neighbors' 
bad  name  : 

O,  a  virtuous  woman  is  Mistress  Glenare! 

She  peeps  and  she  listens,  she  watches  and  waits, 
Nor  Satan  himself  is  more  active  than  she 

To  expose  in  poor  sinners  the  faults  and  bad  traits, 
Which  she  fears  that  the  Lord  might  not  hap 
pen  to  see. 

When  the  Father  of  Spirits  looks  down  from  above 
On  the  good  and  the  evil,  the  frail  and  the  fair, 


68  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

How  must  he  regard,  with  particular  love, 

This  virtuous  woman  —  good  Mistress  Glenare ! 

O,  Mistress  Glenare !    in  the  drama  of  life 

You  are  acting  a  very  respectable  part ; 
You  have  known  just  enough  of  its  envious  strife 

To  deceive  both  the  world  and   your  own  fool 
ish  heart. 
But  say,  in  some  moment  of  clear  common  sense, 

Did  you  never  in  truth   and   sincerity  dare 
To  ask  the  plain  question,  aside  from  pretence, 

How  you   looked   to    the   angels,    dear  Mistress 
Glenare  ?    ' 

The  glory  of  God  has  enlightened  their  eyes : 

No  longer,  through  darkness,  they  see  but  in  part, 
And  the  robes  of  your  righteousness  do  not  suffice 

To  cover  the  lack  of  true  love  in  the  heart. 
You    look    shabby,    and    filthy,    and    ragged,    and 

mean  — 
E'en    with  those   you  condemn,  you  but  poorly 

compare ! 

Go !   wash  you  in  Charity  till  you  are  clean  ; 
You  will   change   for  the   better,    dear  Mistress 
Glenare. 


MISTRESS   GLENARE.  69 

Your  thoughts  have  been  run  in  the  popular  mould, 

Like  wax  that  is  plastic  and  easily  melts; 
Till  now,  like  a  nondescript,  lo,  and  behold ! 

You  are  neither  yourself,  nor  yet  any  one  else. 
Of  tender  compassion,  forgiveness,  and  love, 

Your  nature  has  not  a  respectable  share  5 
You   are   three  parts  of   serpent,   and    one  of  the 
dove  — 

Very  badly  proportioned,  dear  Mistress  Glenare. 

Your  noblest  and  purest  affections  have  died, 

Like  summer--dried  roses,  your  spirit  within ; 
Your  heart  has  grown  arid,  and  scarce  is  supplied 

With  sufficient  vitality  even  to  sin. 
But  would  you  be  true  to  your  virtuous  name, 

There  is  one  we  commend  to  your  tenderest  care ; 
To  deal  with  her  wisely  will  add  to  your  fame: 

That  poor  sinful  woman  is  —  Mistress  Glenare. 


70  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNEfl  LIFK 


LITTLE  JOHNNY. 

[A  poem  delivered  by  Miss  Lizzie  Doten  at  the  close  of  a  lecture  in 
Springfield,  May  10,  and  addressed  to  the  parents  of  Little  Jolmnj 
—  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  A.  Denison,  of  Chicopee,  Mass.] 

SING  not,  O  blessed  angels  ! 

To  those  who  truly  mourn, 
But  come  with  gifts  of  healing, 

For  heart-strings  freshly  torn. 
Ah  !   human  hearts  are  tender, 

And  wounds  of  love  are  deep  : 
Sing  not,  O  blessed  angels  ! 

But  "weep  with  those  who  weep." 

Come  not,  O  spirit-teachers  ! 

With  wisdom  from  above, 
But  come  with  soft,  low  whispers 

Of  sympathy  and  love. 
Truths  seem  uncertain  shadows 


LITTLE   JOHNNY.  71 

Beneath  the  clouds  of  care  ; 
Come,  then,  in  friendly  silence, 
And  strengthen  them  to  bear. 

What  will  ye  bring,  O  angels, 

To  soothe  the  troubled  breast  ? 
"We  will  bring  the  cherished  loved  one 

From  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 
Like  a  wandering  dove  returning, 

He  shall  nestle  in  each  heart ; 
They  will  feel  his  blessed  presence, 

And  their  sorrow  shall  depart. 

k  We  will  lead  them  from  their  darkness 

Out  to  the  shining  light, 
And  scenes  of  heavenly  beauty 

Shall  greet  their  longing  sight. 
There  shall  they  see  their  loved  one, 

Free  from  his  earthly  pain  ; 
Their  souls  shall  cease  from  sorrow, 

And  shall  ask  him  not  again. 

:O,  we  only  opened  gently 
His  little  prison  door ; 


72  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

He  stepped  into  the  sunshine, 
And  then  returned  no  more. 

He  dwells  not  now  in  weakness, 
In  the  spirit's  narrow  cell, 

But  yet  remains  forever 

To  those  who  loved  him  well." 

What  will  ye  bring,  O  teachers  ! 

To  those  who  suffer  loss  ? 
"We  will  bring  them  faith,  and  patience, 

And  strength  to  bear  their  cross, — 
To  bear  it  bravely,  calmly, 

Although  the  way.  seem  long, 
Till  hearts  that  bled  with  anguish 

Shall  burst  into  a  song. 

"They  shall  walk  in  Faith's  clear  sunshine, 

With  souls  renewed  in  youth, 
And  the  little  child  shall  lead  them 

To  a  knowledge  of  the  truth. 
Tell  them  the  loving  angels 

Watch  o'er  their  darling  boy  — 
They  are  sharers  of  their  sorrow, 

And  helpers  of  their  joy. " 


73 


«  BIRDIE'S  "   SPIRIT-SONG. 

[At  the  conclusion  of  a  lecture  in  Boston,  the  following  poem  was 
addressed  to  the  chairman  (Mr.  L.  B.  Wilson).  It  purported  to  come 
from  Anna  Cora,  Mr.  Wilson's  only  child,  who  passed  to  the  spirit- 
world  at  the  age  of  12  years  and  7  months.  She  was  always  called  by 
the  pet  name  "  Birdie."] 

WITH  rosebuds  in  my  hand, 
Fresh  from  the  Summer-land, 
Father,  I  come  and  stand 

Close  by  your  side. 
You  cannot  see  me  here, 
Or  feel  my  presence  near, 
And  yet  your  "  Birdie  "  dear 

Never  has  died. 

O,  no  I   for  angels  bright, 
Out  of  the  blessed  light, 
Shone  on  my  wondering  sight, 
Singing,  "  We  come  ! 
7 


74  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

Lamb  for  the  fold  above  — 
Tender,  young,  nestling  dove  — 
Safe  in  our  arms  of  love, 
Haste  to  thy  home." 

Mother !   I  could  not  stay  ; 
In  a  sweet  dream  I  lay, 
Wafted  to  Heaven  away, 

Far  from  the  night ; 
Then,  with  a  glad  surprise, 
Did  I  unclose  my  eyes, 
Under  those  cloudless  skies, 

Smiling  with  light! 

O  !  were  you  with  me  there, 
Free  from  your  earthly  care, 
All  of  my  joy  to  share, 

I  were  more  blest. 
But  it  is  best  to  stay 
Here  in  the  earthly  way, 
Till  the  good  angels  say, 

"  Come  to  your  rest  !  ' 

Check,  then,  the  falling  tear ; 
Think  of  me  still  as  near. 


"  BIRDIE'S  "  SPIRIT-SONG. 

Father  and  mother  dear, 

Soon  on  that  shore, 
Where  all  the  loved  ones  meet, 
Resting  your  pilgrim  feet, 
Shall  you  with  blessings  greet 

"  Birdie  "  once  more. 


76  POEMS   FttOM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


MY   SPIRIT-HOME. 

"  We  find  the  following-  beautiful  stanzas  in  the  Evening  Courier, 
published  in  Portland,  Me.  They  were  composed  in  spirit-life  by  Miss 
A.  W.  Sprague,  and  spoken  under  spirit-influence  by  Miss  Lizzie 
Doten,  at  the  close  of  her  lecture  in  that  city,  on  Sunday  evening, 
March  22d.  The  lines  are  evidently  from  the  spirit  of  Miss  Sprague, 
who  passed  to  the  spirit-world  last  summer,  from  her  home  in  Ver 
mont,  as  there  are  allusions  in  it  to  incidents  which  took  place  dur 
ing  her  illness,  in  Oswego,  N.  Y.,  about  a  year  since.  Allusion  is  also 
made  to  a  poem  written  by  her  and  published  in  the  Banner,  and  also 
to  another  poem  of  hers,  '  I  wait,  I  wait  at  the  golden  gate.'  "  —  Banner 
of  Light. 

I  COME,  I  come  from  my  spirit-home, 

Like  a  bird  in  the  early  spring, 
To  the  loved  ones  here,  whom  my  heart  holds  dear, 

A  message  of  love  to  bring. 
O,  the  heavens  are  wide,  but  they  cannot  divide 

The  spirits  whom  love  makes  free ! 
The  green  old  earth,  and  the  land  of  my  birth. 

With  its  homes,  are  still  dear  to  me. 


MY   SPIRIT-HOME. 

The  phantoms  of  pain  in  my  burning  brain 

Have  fled  from  the  Heaven's  clear  light; 
I  lie  no  more  on  the  lake's  lone  shore, 

In  the  fever  dreams  of  night. 
O,  it  was  not  late  when  I  fled  from  fate, 

And  that  which  the  world  calls  sin  ; 
No  longer  "  I  wait  at  the  golden  gate," 

For  the  anels  have  let  me  in. 


O,  not  too  soon,  though  at  life's  high  noon, 

Was  the  close  of  my  earthly  day  ; 
As  the  roses  fade,  ere  the  evening  shade, 

I  passed  from  the  earth  away. 
And  I  knew  not  the  blight  of  the  bitter  night, 

Which  withers  the  autumn  flowers, 
Or  the  lengthening  years,  with  their  weight  of  fears, 

That  burden  the  spirit's  powers. 

In  the  forest  wide,  by  the  lake's  green  side, 

The  angels  had  whispered  low; 
From  "  over  the  sea  "  they  had  called  to  me, 

And  I  knew  that  I  soon  must  go; 
But  I  felt  no  fear  when  I  knew  they  were  near, 

Nor  shrank  from  the  narrow  wTay, 
7* 


78  POEMS    FROM   THE    INNER   LIFE. 

For  I  caught  faint  gleams  of  the  crystal  streams, 
And  the  light  of  the  heavenly  day. 

O !   the  angels  bright,  with  their  robes  of  light, 

The  clasp   of  each  gentle  hand, 
And  the  eyes  that  smiled  on  earth's  weary  child, 

As  I  entered  the  better  land ! 
But  words  are  weak  when  the  soul  would  speak 

Of  the  angel-home  above ; 
Faint  visions  alone  are  to  man  made  known, 

Of  that  dwelling  of  light  and  love. 

My  home  is  there,  in  that  world  so  fair, 

But  the  space  is  not  deep  or  wide 
Which  lies  between  this  earthly  scene 

And  the  home  on  the  other  side. 
The  thought  of  love,  like  a  carrier  dove, 

Shall  the  heart's  fond  message  bear. 
And  the  angel  bands,  with  their  willing  hands, 

Shall  answer  each  earnest  prayer. 

Fare  ye  well!  farewell!     My  spirit  can  dwell 

In  the  earthly  form  no  more; 
But  whither  I  go,   and  the  way,  ye  shall  know, 


MY   SPIRIT-HOME.  79 

To  your  home  on  the  other  shore. 
Soon  "over  the  sea"  ye  shall  walk  with  me, 

On  the  hills  by  the  angels  trod, 
In  the  garments  white,  of  the  sons  of  light, 

In  the  freedom  and  peace  of  God. 


80  POEMS   FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 


I  STILL  LIVE. 

rGiven  under  the  inspiration  of  Miss  A.  W.   Sprague,  at  the  con 
clusion  of  a  lecture  in  Philadelphia,  October  25,  1863.] 

0  THOU,  whose  love  is  changeless, 
Both  now  and  evermore; 

Source   of  all  conscious  being. 

Thy  goodness  I  adore. 
Lord,  I  would  ever  praise  Thee, 

For  all  Thy  love  can  give ; 
But  most  of  all,  O  Father ! 

I  thank  Thee  that  I  live. 

1  live !   O  ye  who  loved  me ! 
Your  faith  was  not  in  vain ; 

Back  through  the  shadowy  valley 

I  come  to  you  again. 
Safe  in  the  love  that  guides  me, 

With  fearless  feet  I  tread  — 


I   STILL  LIVE.  81 

My  home  is  with  the  angels  — 
O,  say  not  I  am  dead! 

4 

Not  dead!   O,  no,  but  lifted 

Above  all  earthly  strife; 
Now  first  I  know  the  meaning, 

And  feel  the  power  of  life  — 
The  power  to  rise  uncumbered 

By  woe,  or  want,  or  care ; 
To  breathe   fresh  inspiration 

From  pure,  celestial  air ;  — 

To  feel  that  all  the  tempests 

Of  human  life  have  passed, 
And  that  my  ark,  in  safety 

Rests  on  the  mount  at  last ; 
To   send  my   soul's  great  longings, 

Like  Noah's  dove,  abroad, 
And  find  them  swift  returning, 

With    signs   of    peace  from  God ;  — 

To  soar  in  fearless  freedom 

Through  broad,  blue,  boundless  skies 
And  catch  the  radiant  gleaming 


82  POZMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Of  love-lit,  angel  eyes  ; 
To  feel  the  Father's  presence 

Around  me,  near  or  far, 
And  see  His  radiant  glory 

Stretch  onward,  star  by  star;  — 

To  feel  those  grand  upliftings 

That  know  not  space  nor  time ; 
To  hear  all  discords  ending 

In  harmony  sublime ; 
To  know  that  sin   and  error 

Are  dimly  understood, 
And  that  which  man  calls  Evil 

Is  undeveloped  Good  ;  — 

To  stand  in  spell-bound  rapture 

On  some  celestial  height, 
And  see  God's  glorious  sunshine 

Dispel  the  shades  of  night; 
To  feel  that  all  creation 

With  love  and  joy  is  rife  ;  — 
This,  O  my  earthly  loved  ones, 

This  is  Eternal  Life! 


I   STILL  LIVE.  83 

There,  eyes  that  closed  in  darkness 

Shall   open   to  the  morn ; 
And  those  whom  death  had  stricken, 

Shall  find  themselves  new-born ; 
The  lame  shall  leap  with  gladness, 

The  blind  rejoice  to  see; 
The  slave  shall  know  no  master. 

And  the  prisoner  shall  be  free. 

There,  the  worn  and  heavy-laden 

Their  burdens  shall  lay  down; 
There,  crosses,  borne  in  meekness, 

At  length  shall  win  the  crown ; 
And  lonely  hearts  that  famished 

For  sympathy  and  love, 
Shall  find  a  free  affection 

In  the  angel-home   above. 

O,  children  of  our  Father! 

"Weep  not  for  those  who  pass, 
Like  rose-leaves  gently  scattered, 

Like  dew-drops  from  the  grass. 
Ay,  look  not  down  in  sadness, 

But  fix  your  gaze  on  high ; 


84  POEMS   FBOM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

They  only  dropped  their  mantles  — 
Their  souls  can  never  die. 

They  live!    and  still  unbroken 

Is  that  magnetic  chain, 
Which,  in  your  tearful  blindness, 

You  thought  was  rent  in  twain. 
That  chain  of  love  was  fashioned 

By  more  than  human   art, 
And  every  link  is  welded 

So  firm  it  cannot  part. 

They  iive !   but  O,  not  idly, 

To  fold  their   hands  to  rest, 
For  they  who  love  God  truly, 

Are   they  who  serve  him  best. 
Love  lightens   all  their  labor, 

And  makes  all  duty  sweet ; 
Their  hands  are  never  weary, 

Nor  way-worn  are  their  feet. 

Thus  by  that  world  of  beauty, 

And  by  that  life  of  love, 
And  by  the  holy  angels 


I   STILL   LIVE.  85 

Who  listen  now  above, 
I  pledge  my  soul's  endeavor, 

To   do  whate'er  I  can 
To  bless  my  sister  woman, 

And  aid  my  brother  man. 

O  Thou,  whose  love  is  changeless, 

Both   now  and  evermore, 
Source  of  all  conscious  .being ! 

Thy  goodness  I  adore. 
Lord,  I  would  ever  praise  Thee 

For  all  Thy  love  can  give; 
But  most   of  all,  O  Father, 

I  thank  Thee  that  I  live. 
8 


86  POEMS   FROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 


[The  two  following  poems  were  given  under  an  influence  purport 
ing  to  be  that  of  Shakspeare.] 

LIFE. 


"To  be,  or  not  to  be,"  is  not  "the  question;" 
There  is  no  choice  of  Life.     Ay,  mark  it  well!  — 
For  Death  is  but  another  name  for  Change. 
The  weary  shuffle  off  their  mortal  coil, 
And  think  to  slumber  in  eternal  night. 
But,  lo !   the  man,  though  dead,  is  living  still ; 
Unclothed,  is  clothed  upon,  and  his  Mortality 
Is  swallowed  up  of  Life. 

/'He  babbles  o' green  fields,  then  falls  asleep," 
And  straight  awakes  amid  eternal  verdure. 
Fairer  than  "dreams  of  a  Midsummer's  Night," 
The  fields  Elysian  stretch  before  him. 
No  "Tempest"  rends  the  ever  peaceful  bowers 
Of  asphodel,  and  fadeless  amaranth; 


LIFE.  87 

No  hot  sirocco  blows  with  poisonous  breath; 
No  midnight  frights  him  with  its  goblins  grim, 
Presaging  sudden  death.     No  Macbeth  there, 
Mad  with  ambition,  plotteth  damning  deeds; 
No  Hamlet,  haunted  by  his  father's  ghost, 
Stalks  wildly  forth  intent  on  vengeance  dire. 
The  curse  of  Cain  on  earth  is  consummate, 
And  knows  no  resurrection.     Spirits  learn 
That  spirit  is  immortal,  and  no  poisoned  cup, 
Or  dagger's  thrust,  or  sting  of  deadly  asp, 
Can  rob  it  of  its  Godlike  attribute. 
This  mortal  garb  may  be  as  full  of  wounds 
And  bloody  rents  as  royal  Caesar's  mantle ; 
Yet  that  which  made  it  man  or  Caesar  liveth  still. 

Man  learns,  in  this  Valhalla  of  his  soul, 
To  love,  nor  ever  finds  "Love's  Labor  Lost" 
No  two-faced  Falstaff  proffers  double  suit ; 
No  Desdcmona  mourns  lago's  art; 
And  every  Romeo  finds  his  Juliet. 
The  stroke  of  Death  is  but  a  kindly  frost, 
Which  cracks  the  shell,  and  leaves  the  kernel  room 
To  germinate.     What  most  consummate  fools 
This  fear  of  death  doth  make  us!     Reason  plays 


88  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

The  craven  unto  sense,  and  in  her  fear 
Chooses  the  slow  and  slavish  death  of  life, 
Rather  than  freedom  in  the  life   of  death. 
"Thus  Ignorance  makes  cowards  of  us  all," 
And  blinds  us  to  our  being's  best  estate. 
Madly  we  cling  to  life  through  nameless  ills, 
Pinched  by  necessity,  and  scourged  by  fate,- 
Fainting   in  heat  and  freezing  in  the  cold, 
While  war,  and  pestilence,  and  sore  distress, 
Fever  and  famine,  fire  and  flood,  combine 
To  drive  the  spirit  from  its  wreck  of  clay. 

O,  poor  Humanity !    How  full  of  blots, 
And  stains,  and  pains,  and  miseries  thou  art ! 
Here  let  me  be  thine  Antony,  and  plead 
Thy  cause  against  the  slayers  of  thy  peace. 
Though  wounded,  yet  thou  art  not  dead,  thou  child 
Of  Immortality  —  thou  heir  of  God! 
He  who  would  slay  thee,  be  he  brute  or  Brutus, 
Plunges  the  dagger  in  his  own  vile  heart. 
And  yet  thy  wounds  are  piteous.     I  could  weep 
That  aught  so  fair  from  the  Creator's  hand 
Should  be  so  marred  and  mangled,  like  a  lamb 
Torn  by  the  ravening  wolves..    Here,  let  me  take 


LIFE.  89 

Thy  mantle,  pierced  with  gaping,  ghastly  wounds, 
From  dacrsers  clutched  by  morale  hands.    O  Truth ! 

C?O  v  O 

How  many,  in  thy  sacred  name,  have  slain 
Humanity,  thinking  they  did  God  service ! 
Rome,  and  not  Caesar  —  Doctrines,  and  not  Men. 

I  cannot  count  the  wounds  which  lust  for  power, 
And  wealth,  and  place,  and  precedence  have  made. 
But,  O  !   the  keenest,  deepest,  deadliest  stabs 
Of  all,  were  made  by  false  Philosophy 
And  false  Theology  combined  — 
Philosophy,  that  knew  not  what  it  did ; 
Theology,  that  did  not  what  it  knew. 
See  here !     This  rent  made  by  the  fear  of  God, 
That  gracious  God,  whose  "mercy  seasons  justice," 
Who  feeds  the  raven,  clothes  the  lilies,  heeds 
The  sparrow  when  it  falls,  and  sends  his  rain 
Alike  upon  the  evil  and  the  good. 
And  yet  they  were  all  "  honorable  men " 
Who  taught  this  doctrine  —  "honorable  men!" 
Whose  failing  was  a  lack  of  common  sense. 

And,  lo !   here  is  another  —  Fear  of  Truth  — 
Blind  Superstition  made  this  horrid  rent, 
8* 


'90  '  '  FOtfMSf1  FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

'  •.  '  "•  '  '  •.      /, 

And  Bigotry  quick  followed  up  the  thrust. 
O,  'tis  an  eye  wreeping  great  tears  of  blood ! 
An  eagle  eye,  that  dared  to  love  the  light 
Which  Bigotry  and  Superstition  feared, 
Lest  it  should  make  their  deeds  of  evil  plain. 
Thus  is  it,  he  who  dares  to  see  a  Truth 
Not  recognized  in  creeds,  must  die  the  death. 
But  noon-day  never  stayed  for  bats  and  owls, 
And  Truth's  clear  light  shall  yet  arise  and  shine. 

See  here:  another  wound — The  fear  of  Death  — 
That   blessed  consummation   of  this  life, 
Which  soothes  all  pain,  makes  good  all  loss,  revives 
The   weak,  gives   rest    and   peace,  makes   free  the 

slave, 

Levels  all  past  distinctions,   and  doth  place 
The  beggar  on  a  footing  with  the  king. 
O,  poor  Humanity !   those   who  conspired 
To  slay  thee,  through   exceeding  love  for  God, 
And  for  the  glory  of  His  mighty  name, 
Smote  at  the  very  centre  of  thy  peace, 
And  damning  doubts,  like  daggers'   thrusts,  attest 
How  zealously  they  aimed  each  cruel  blow. 


LIFE. 

And  yet,  this  rent  and  bloody  mantte^auflot  thee. 
Slain,  but  not  dead  —  thy  spirit  shall  arise 
And  face  thy  startled  enemies  again, 
As  royal  Cesar's  ghost  appeared  to  Brutus, 
In   Sardis'  and  Philippi's  tented  plains. 
Thou  royal  heir  to  kingdoms  yet  unknown! 
A  mightier  than  Caesar  is  thy  Friend. 
He  stays  the  hand  of  Cassius,  Brutus,  all 
Who  aim  their  weapons  at  thy  life,  and  dulls 
Their  daggers'  points  against  thy  deathless  soul. 
From  every  gaping  wound  of  fear  or  doubt, 
Murder  or  malice,  sorrow  or  despair, 
Thy  spirit  leaps  as  from  a  prison   door. 
It  laughs  at  death  and  daggers,  as  it  flies 
To  hold  companionship  with  spirits  blest; 
And  having  thus  informed  itself  of  life, 
The  question  then,  —  "To  be,  or  not  to  be?"  — 
Is  swallowed  up  in  Immortality. 


I 


92  POEMS   FROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 


LOVE. 

[Shakspeare.] 

O  WORLD  !   somewhat  I  have  to  say  to  thee. 
O  sin-sick,  heart-sick,  soul-sick,  love-sick  World! 
So  ailing  art  thou,  both  in  part  and  particle, 
That  solid  truth  thy  stomach  ill  digests. 
Yet,  since  thou  art  my  mother,  I  will  love  thee, 
And  heedless  of  thy  frowns,  "  will  speak  right  on." 

That  which  belongs  to  all  men  is  least  prized; 
The  thing  most  common  is  least  understood. 
That  which  is  deep  and  silent  is  divine; 
And  there  is  nought  on  earth  so  craved,  so  common, 
So  misunderstood,  or  so  divine,  as  Love. 
When  meted  in  proportion  to  man's  need, 
"  Measure  for  measure "  it  doth  purify, 
Exalt,  and  make  him  equal  with  the  gods. 


LOVE.  93 

He  feeds  upon  ambrosia,  and  his  drink 

Is  nectar;   high  Olympus  cannot  yield 

Delights  more  grateful  to  his  soul  and  sense. 

Parnassus  fails  his  rapture  to  express, 

And  Helicon  hat"h  less  of  inspiration. 

But,  pritheo,  should  he  chance  to  drink   too   deep 

Of  the  exhilarating  draught,  —  should  plunge 

Him  head  and  ears  into  this  Vildering  flood, — 

Mark,  then,  what  marvellous  diversions 

From  the  centre  of  his  gravity  ensue. 

Judgment  is  scouted  —  sober  common  sense 

Yields  to  imagination's  airy  flights ; 

Upon  a  swift-winged  hippogrift'  he  mounts, 

To  seek  the  fair  Arcadia  of  his  dreams. 

He    builds  him    castles  —  basks    in    moonshine  — 

feeds 

Among  the  lilies — pours  his  passion  forth 
In  amorous  canticles  and  burning  sighs  — 
Makes  him  a  bed  of  roses,  and  lies  down 
To  revel  in  his  rainbow-colored  dreams  — 
Until  some  turn,  some  ill-begotten  chance, 
Most  unexpectedly  invades  his  peace, 
And  castles,  moonshine,  roses,  rainbows  fly, 
And  leave  him  to  the  stern  realities  of  life. 


94  POEMS   FROM  THE  INNER  LIFE. 

Alas,  poor  Human  Nature!     Even  fools 

Must  learn  through  sad  experience  to  grow  wise. 

Love  is  the  highest  attribute  of  Deity; 
And  he  who  loves  divinely  is  most  blest. 
It  purgeth  passion  from  the  soul  and  sense, 
And  makes  the  man  a  unit  in  himself; 
Head,  eyes,  hands,  heart,  all  work  in  unison, 
And  beasts,  and  savages,  and  rudest  hinds, 
All  feel  alike  its  exercise  of  power. 

Ambition  cannot  walk  with  it;   for  he 
Who  learns  to  live  and  love  aright,  loves  all, 
And  finds  preferment  in  the  general  weal. 
Though,  Proteus  like,  it  takes  a  thousand  forms, 
It  doth  o'ercome  all  evil  with  its  good, 
Casteth  out  devils  —  sensuality,  and  sin, 
And  green-eyed  jealousy,  and  hate ;   and  like 
Chrysostom,  golden-mouthed,  it  doth  attune 
The  words  of  common  speech  to  sweet  accord, 
And  gives  significance  to  simplest  things. 

It  buddeth  out  in  tender  infancy, 
Like  fresh-blown  violets  in  the  early  spring, 


LOVE.  95 

And  giveth  form  and  fashion  to  all  life. 

For,  by  its  character,  it  doth  decide 

What  elements  and  essences  the  soul 

Shall  draw  from  contact  with  material  things. 

As  roses  draw  their  blushes,  lilies  whiteness, 

Violets  their  azure,  from  the  same  dull  earth, 

So  Love  extracts  the  sweetnesses  of  Life, 

And  doth  so  mingle  all  within  her  crucible, 

That  she  creates  the  difference  between 

Immortal  souls.      The  fiery  heart  of  youth, 

Full  of  high  aims  and  generous  purposes  of  good, 

Swells  like  the  ocean-waves  beneath  the  moon, 

And  brooketh  no  restraint,  until  it  finds 

Its  living  counterpart,  and  merget^h  all 

It  hath  of  truth,  and  manliness,  and  might, 

Into  a  second  and  a  dearer  self. 

So  goes  the  world !   and  strong  necessity 
Creates  the  law  of  action,  whose  results 
Join  issue  with  the  love  of  God  himself. 
O  jealous,  wanton,  ill-conceited  World! 
How  little  dost  thou  understand  the  deep 
Significance  and  potency  of  Love ! 
Thou  hast  defiled  thyself  with  gross  perversions, 


96  POEMS  FROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 

Till  purity  of  love  is  but  a  jest, 

Or  reckoned  with  the  fantasies  of  fools. 

O,  I  would  take  thee,  dear  Humanity, 
And  set  thee  face  to  face  with  perfect  Love. 
She  is  thy  mother.      Love  and  Wisdom  met 
United  by  Eternal  Power.      The  worlds 
Sprang  ^forth  from   chaos;     and    the    love    which 

brought 

Them  into  being  doth  sustain  them  still. 
The  monad  and  the  angel  rest  alike 
Within  its  all-embracing  arms;   and  life, 
And  death,  with  all  that  makes  our  mortal  state, 
Are  cradled  at  the  footstool  of  this  power. 
>Then,  sweet  Humanity,  thou  favored  child 
Of  God,  look  up !      An  everlasting  chain 
Doth  bind  thee  to  the  mighty  heart  of  all. 
Love's  labor  never  can  be  lost.      He  who 
Created,  shall,  through  Love,  perfect  and  save; 
And  that  which  hath  such  poor  expression  here, 
Shall  find  fruition  in  a  brighter  sphere. 


FOR   A'   THAT.  97 


FOR  A'  THAT. 

[The  following  poem  was  given  under  the  inspiration  of  Robert 
Burns.] 

Is  there  a  luckless  wight  on  earth, 

Oppressed  wi'  care  and  a'  that, 
Who  holds  his  life  as  little  worth, 

His  home  is  Heaven  for  a'  that  — 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

There's  muckle  joy  for  a'  that ; 
He's  seen  the  warst  o'  hell  below, 

His  home  is  Heaven  for  a'  that. 

The  weary  slave  that  drags  his  chain, 

In  toil  and  grief,  and  a'  that, 
Shall  find  relief  from  a'  his  pain, 

And  rest  in  Heaven  from  a'  that. 
From  a'  that    and  a'  that. 

There's  freedom  there  fr9m  a'  that, 


98  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

For  Justice  throws  into  the  scale 
A  recompense  for  a'  that. 

Puir  souls,  in  right  not  unco  strong, 

Through  love  and  want  and  a'  that, 
There  sure  is  power  to  right  their  wrong, 

And  save  their  souls,  for  a'  that — • 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

The  Lord  is  guid  for  a'  that; 
The  de'il  himsel'  can  turn  and  mend, 

And  come  to  Heaven  for  a'  that. 

On  Scotia's  hills  the  gowans  spring, 

The  heather  blooms,  and  a'  that; 
The  mavis  and  the  merle  sing, 

But  Heaven's  my  home  for  a'  that  — 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

I  wadna'  change  for  a'  that. 
He  who  once  finds  the  Heaven  aboon 

Will  not  come  back  for  a'  that. 


WORDS   0'    CHEER.  99 


WORDS   0'  CHEER. 

[Given  under  the  inspiration  of  Robert  Burns.] 

GUID  FRIENDS: 

ALTHOUGH  not  present  to  your  sight, 
I  gie  ye  greeting  here  to-night; 
Not  claiming  to  be  perfect  quite, 

Frae  taint  o'  passion, 
Yet  will  I  hauld  my  speech  aright, 

In  guid  Scotch  fashion. 

O,  could  some  cantie*  word  o'  mine, 
But  make  your  careworn  faces  shine, 
Or  cause  the  hearts  in  grief  that  pine, 

To  throb  with  pleasure, 
Then  wad  my  cup  to  auld  lang  syne, 

Fill  to  its  measure. 

*  Cheerful. 


100  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

The  gracious  powers  above  us,  know 
How  sair  a  weight,  of  want  and  woe 
Must  be  the  lot  of  those  who  go 

Through  Earth  to  Heaven; 
But  aye,  the  life  aboon  will  show 

Wherefore  'twas  given. 

And  that  guid  God  who  loves  us  a', 
Who  sees  the  chittering*  sparrow  fa', 
Will  never  turn  his  face  awa', 

Though  you  should  stray; 
But  all  his  wandering  sheep  will  ca' 

Back  to  the  way. 

So  muckle  t  are  the  cares  o'  men, 
That  Truth  at  times  is  hard  to  ken, 
And  Error,  to  her  grousomej  den. 

So  dark  and  eerie, 
Wiles  those  who  have  na  heart  to  men' ;  § 

Puir  wanderers  weary. 

Alack!   how  mony  a  luckless  wight 
Has  gane  agley  ||  in  Error's  night, 

*  Trembling.       f  Great.       J  Gloomy.        §  Amend.         ||  Astray. 


101 


Not  that  he  had  less  love  for  right 

Than  countless  ithers ; 
But  that  he  lacked  the  keener  sight 

Of  his  guid  brithers. 

Lo!    Calvin,  Knox,  and  Luther,  cry 

« I  have  the  Truth  "  —  «  and  I  "  —  «  and  I."  — 

"  Puir  sinners !   if  ye  gang  agley, 

The  de'il  will  hae  ye, 
And  then  the  Lord  will  stand  abeigh, 

And  will  na  save  ye." 

But  hoolie*  hoolie!  Na  sae  fast; 
When  Gabriel  shall  blaw  his  blast, 
And  Heaven  and  Earth  awa'  have  passed, 

These  lang  syne  saints, 
Shall  find  baith  de'il  and  hell  at  last, 

Mere  pious  feints. 

The  upright,  honest-hearted  man, 
Who  strives  to  do  the  best  he  can, 
Need  never  fear  the  Church's  ban, 
Or  hell's  damnation ; 

*  Stop. 

9* 


102  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

For  God  will  need  na  special  plan 
For  his  salvation. 

The  one  who  knows  our  deepest  needs, 
Recks  little  how  man  counts  his  beads, 
For  -Righteousness  is  not  in  creeds, 

Or  solemn  faces; 
But  rather  lies  in  kindly  deeds, 

And  Christian  graces, 

Then  never  fear ;   wi'  purpose  leal,  * 
A  head  to  think,  a  heart  to  feel 
For  human  woe  and  human  weal, 

Na  preachin'  loun  | 
Your  sacred  birthright  e'er  can  steal 

To  Heaven  aboon. 

Tak'J  tent  o'  truth,  and  heed  this  well 
The  man  who  sins  makes  his  ain  hell ; 
There's  na  waurse  de'il  than  himsel'; 

But  God  is  strongest : 
And  when  puir  human  hearts  rebel, 

He  haulds  out  longest. 

*  True.  t  Fellow.  |  Pay  attention. 


WORDS   0'    CHEER.  108 

With  loving  kindness  will  he  wait, 
Till  all  the  prodigals  o'  fate 
Return  unto  their  fair  estate, 

And  blessings  mony; 
Nor  will  he  shut  the  gowden  gate 

Of  Heaven  on  ony. 


104  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 


RESURREXI. 


"  A  REMARKABLE  POEM.  —  The  following  striking  poem  was  re 
cited  by  Miss  Lizzie  Doten,  a  Spiritual  trance-speaker,  at  the  close  of 
a  recent  lecture  in  Boston.  She  professed  to  give  it  impromptu,  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned,  and  to  speak  under  the  direct  influence  of 
Edgar  A.  Poe.  "Whatever  may  be  the  truth  about  its  production,  the 
poem  is,  in  several  respects,  a  remarkable  one.  Miss  Doten  is,  ap 
parently,  incapable  of  originating  such  a  poem.  If  it  was  written  for 
her  by  some  one  else,  and  merely  committed  to  memory  and  recited 
by  her,  the  poem  is,  nevertheless,  wonderful  as  a  reproduction  of  the 
singular  music  and  alliteration  of  Poe's  style,  and  as  manifesting  the 
same  intensity  of  feeling.  "Whoever  wrote  the  poem  must  have  been 
exceedingly  familiar  with  Poe,  and  deeply  in  sympathy  with  his  spirit. 
But  if  Miss  Doten  is  honest,  and  the  poem  originated  as  she  said  it 
did,  it  is  unquestionably  the  most  astonishing  thing  that  Spiritualism 
has  produced.  It  does  not  follow,  necessarily,  in  that  case,  that  Poe 
himself  made  the  poem,  —  although  we  are  asked  to  believe  a  great 
many  spiritual  things  on  less  cogent  evidence,  —  but  it  is,  in  any  view 
of  it  that  may  be  taken,  a  very  singular  and  mysterious  production. 
There  is,  in  the  second  verse,  an  allusion  to  a  previous  poem  that 
purported  to  come  from  the  spirit  of  Poe,  which  was  published  sev 
eral  years  since,  and  attracted  much  attention,  but  the  following  poem 
is  of  a  higher  order,  and  much  more  like  Poe  than  the  other."  — 
Springfield  Republican. 

FROM  the  throne  of  Life  Eternal, 
From  the  home  of  love  supernal, 


RESURREXI.  105 

Where  the  angel  feet  make  music  over  all  the  starry 

floor — 

Mortals,  I  have  come  to  meet  you, 
Come  with  words  of  peace  to  greet  you, 
And  to  tell  you  of  the  glory  that  is  mine  forever- 
more. 

Once  before  I  found  a  mortal 
Waiting  at  the  heavenly  portal  — 
Waiting  but  to  catch  some  echo  from   that   ever- 
opening  door; 

Then  I  seized  his  quickened  being, 
And  through  all  his  inward  seeing, 
Caused  my  burning  inspiration   in  a  fiery  flood  to 
pour! 

Now  I  come  more  meekly  human, 
And  the  weak  lips  of  a  woman 

Touch  with  fire  from  off  the  altar,  not  with  burn 
ings  as  of  yore ; 
But  in  holy  love  descending, 
With  her  chastened  being  blending, 
I  would  fill  your  souls  with  music  from  the  bright 
celestial  shore. 


106  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

As  one  heart  yearns  for  another, 
As  a  child  turns  to  its  mother, 
From  the  golden  gates  of  glory  turn  I  to  the  earth 

once  more, 

Where  I  drained  the  cup  of  sadness, 
Where  my  soul  was  stung  to  madness, 
And  life's  bitter,  burning  billows  swept  my  burdened 
being  o'er. 

Here  the  harpies  and  the  ravens,  — 
Human  vampyres,  sordid  cravens, — 
Preyed  upon  my  soul  and  substance  till  I  writhed  in 

anguish  sore; 

Life  and  I  then  seemed  mismated, 
For  I  felt  accursed  and  fated, 

Like  a  restless,  wrathful  spirit,  wandering  on  the 
Stygian  shore. 

Tortured  by  a  nameless  yearning, 
Like  a  frost-fire,  freezing,  burning, 
Did  the  purple,  pulsing  life-tide  through  its  fevered 

channels  pour, 
Till  the  golden  bowl  —  Life's  token  — 


EESUEREXI.  107 

Into  shining  shards  was  broken, 
And  my  chained  and  chafing  spirit  leaped  from  out 
its  prison  door. 

But  while  living,  striving,  dying, 
Never  did  my  soul  cease  crying, 
"  Ye  who  guide  the  Fates  and  Furies,  give,  O  give 

me,  I  implore, 

From  the  myriad  hosts  of  nations, 
From  the  countless  constellations, 
One  pure  spirit  that  can  love  me  —  one  that  I,  too, 
can  adore ! " 

Through  this  fervent  aspiration 
Found  my  fainting  soul  salvation, 
For  from  out  its  blackened  fire-crypts  did  my  quick 
ened  spirit  soar ; 
And  my  beautiful  ideal  — 
Not  too  saintly  to  be  real  — 

Burst  more  brightly  on  my  vision  than  the  loved  and 
lost  Lenore. 

'Mid  the  surging  seas  she  found  me, 
With  the  billows  breaking  round  me, 


108  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

And  my  saddened,  sinking  spirit  in  her  arms  of  love 

upbore ; 

Like  a  lone  one,  weak  and  weary, 
Wandering  in  the  midnight  dreary, 
On  her  sinless,  saintly  bosom,  brought  me  to  the 
heavenly  shore. 

Like  the  breath  of  blossoms  blending, 
Like  the  prayers  of  saints  ascending, 
Like  the  rainbow's  seven-hued  glory,  blend  our  souls 

forevermore ; 

Earthly  love  and  lust  enslaved  me, 
But  divinest  love  hath  saved  me, 
And  I  know  now,  first  and  only,  how  to  love  and  to 
adore. 

O,  my  mortal  friends  and  brothers ! 

We  are  each  and  all  another's, 

And  the  soul  that  gives  most  freely  from  its  treasure 
hath  the  more ; 

Would  you  lose  your  life,  you  find  it, 

And  in  giving  love,  you  bind  it 
Like  an  amulet  of  safety,  to  your  heart  forevermore. 


THE   PROPHECY   OF   VALA.  109 


THE  PROPHECY   OF   VALA. 

[Given  under  the  inspiration  of  Edgar  A.  Poe.] 

The  Prophecy  of  Vala  is  founded  on  the  Scandinavian  mythology. 
Odin,  the  great  All  Father,  is  the  sovereign  power  of  the  universe ; 
Thor,  a  lesser  god,  of  whom  it  is  said,  "  his  mighty  hammer  smote 
thunder  out  of  every  thing."  Baldur  was  a  son  of  Odin  and  Frigga. 
He  was  slain  by  Horder,  his  blind  brother,  who  was  persuaded  to 
the  act  by  Loke,  an  evil  spirit,  corresponding  to  the  Hebrew  or  Chris 
tian  devil.  The  Valkyrien  were  the  genii  of  the  battle-field.  The  three 
Norncn  were  the  Fates  who  watered  the  tree  Yggdrasill,  at  whose 
roots  it  is  said  that  a  dragon  was  constantly  gnawing.  The  Heim- 
skringla  was  the  circle  of  the  universe.  Yala  was  a  seeress,  or  proph 
etess,  who  was  summoned  from  the  dead  by  Odin,  to  tell  of  the  fate 
of  Baldur  ;  but  on  her  appearance  refused  to  do  so,  and  to  the  aston 
ishment  of  all,  prophesied  the  death  of  all  the  sons  of  Odin  at  the  day 
of  Ragnaroc,  which  corresponds  to  the  day  of  judgment,  with  the  ex 
ception  that  it  was  also  the  day  of  reconstruction,  or  renewal  of  the 
world.  The  Prophecy  of  Vala,  as  given  in  the  old  Icelandic  Edda,  has 
been  used  with  perfect  freedom,  to  present  the  idea  that  Good,  though 
apparently  overcome  of  Evil,  should  ultimately  triumph.  —  Explana 
tion  by  Poe. 

I  HAVE  walked  with  the  Fates  and  the  Furies  'mid 

the  wrecks  of  the  mighty  Past, 
I  have  stood  in  the  giant  shadows  which  the  ages 

have  backward  cast, 


110  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

And  I've  heard  the  voices  of  prophets  come  down 

in  a  lengthening  chain, 
Translating    the    Truth    Eternal,  and    making    its 

meaning  plain ; 
Backward   still,    ever   backward,   'mid    wreck    and 

ruin  I  trod, 
Seeking  Life's  secret  sources,  and  the  primal  truths 

of  God. 

"Tell  me,"   I   cried,  "O   Prophet,  thou   shade  of 

the  mighty  Past, 
What  of  the  Truth  in  the  future  ?     Is  its  horoscope 

yet  cast? 
Thou  didst  give  it  its  birth  and  being,  thou  didst 

cradle  it  in  thy  breast  — 
Show   me   its   shining   orbit,    and  the  place  of  its 

final  rest!" 

A  sound  like  the  restless  earthquake!   a  crash  like 

the  "  crack  of  doom  " ! 
And  a  fiery  fulmination  streamed   in  through  the 

frightened  gloom. 
I   stood  in  the    halls  of  Odin,    and   the  great  All 

Father  shone 


THE   PROPHECY   OF   VALA.  Ill 

Like  the  centre  and  sun  of  Being,  'inid  the  glories 

of  his  throne ; 
And   Thor,   with   his  mighty  hammer,  upraised  in 

his  giant  hand, 
Stood  ready  to  wake  the  thunder  at  his  sovereign 

Lord's  command. 

"  Ho,  Thor !  "  said  the  mighty  Odin,   "  our   omens 

are  all  of  ill, 
For  the  dragon   gnaweth  sharply   at  the  roots  of 

Yggdrasill ; 
I  hear  the   wild   Valkyrien,  as  they  shriek  on  the 

battle-plain, 
And  the  moans  of  the   faithful   Nornen,   as   they 

weep  over  Baldur  slain. 
A    woe    to    the    serpent    Loke,    and   to   Herder's 

reckless  ruth, 
For  Goodness  is  slain  of  Evil,  and  Falsehood  hath 

conquered  Truth  ! 
Now   call  thou   on  mystic  Vala,  as   she.  sleeps  in 

the  grave  of  Time, 
Where  the  hoary  age  hath  written  her  name  in  a 

frosty  rime; 


112  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

She  can  tell  when   the  sun  will  darken,  when  the 

stars  shall  cease  to  burn, 
When   the   sleeping   dead  shall  waken,  and  when 

Baldur  shall  return." 

A  sound   like  the   rushing  tempest,  and  the   won 
drous  hammer  fell, 
And  the  great  Heimskringla  shuddered,  and  swayed 

like  a  mighty  bell. 
There    were   mingled   murmurs    and  discords,  like 

the  wailing  of  troubled  souls ; 
Like    the   gnomes    at   their  fiery  forges  —  like  the 

howlings  of  restless  ghouls. 
Then  out  of  the  fiery  covert   of  the   tempest  and 

the  storm, 
Like  a  vision  of  troubled  slumber,  came  a  woman's 

stately  form. 
There  fell  a  hush  as  at  midnight,  when  the  sheeted 

dead  awake, 
And  even  the  silence  shuddered,  as  her  words  of 

power  she  spake : 

"Mighty  Odin,  I  am  Vala, 
I  have  heard  your  thunder-call, 


THE   PROPHECY   OP   VALA.  113 

I  have  heard  the  woful  wailing 

Sounding  forth  from  Wingolf's  hall; 
And  I  know  that  beauteous  Baldur, 

Loved  of    all  the  gods,  is  slain  — 
That  the  evil  Loke  triumphs, 

And  on  Horder  rests  the  stain. 
But  my  words  shall  fail  to  tell  you 

Aught  concerning  him  you  mourn, 
For  the  leaves  that  bear  the  record 

From  the  Tree  of  Life  are  torn ; 
And  while  Hecla's  fires  shall  glow, 
Or  the  bubbling  Geysers  flow, 
Of  his  fate  no  one  shall  know  — 
Understand  you  this,  or  no? 

;I  will  sing  a  solemn  Saga, 

I  will  chant  a  Runic  rhyme, 
Weave  a  wild,  prophetic  Edda, 

From  the  scattered  threads  of  time : 
Know,  O  Odin,  —  mighty  Odin,  — 

That  thy  sons  shall  all  be  slain, 
Where  the  wild  Yalkyrien  gather, 

On  the  bloody  battle  plain ; 
And  thy  throne  itself  shall  tremble 
10* 


114  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 


With  the  stern,  resistless  shock, 
Which  shall  rend  the  world    asunder 

At  the  day  of  Ragnaroc. 
Other  stars  the  night  shall  know, 
From  the  rock  shall  waters  flow, 
And  from  ruin  beauty  grow. 
Understand  you  this,  or  no? 

44  Vainly  shall  the  faithful  Nornen 

Water  drooping  Yggdrasill, 
For  the  wrathful,  restless  dragon 

At  its  roots  is  gnawing  still. 
Loke's  evil  arts  shall  triumph, 

Border's  eyes  be  dark  with  night, 
Till  the  day  of  re-creation 

Brings  the  buried  Truth  to  light: 
Then  a  greater  god  than  Odin, 

Over  all  the  worlds  shall  reign, 
And  my  Saga's  mystic  meaning, 

As  the  sunlight  shall  be  plain. 
Out  of  evil  good  shall  grow  — 
Doubt  me  not,  for  time  shall  show. 
Understand  you  this,  or  no? 
Fare  you  well !   I  go  —  I  go !  " 


f/  ^  VI  \ 

UNIVERSITY) 

THE   PROPHECY   OP   V^S^A./^  N  '115     -  ^  - 

TC: 

There  came  a  voice  as  of  thunder,  with  a  gleam  of 
lurid  light, 

And  the  mystic  Vala  vanished  like  a  meteor  of 
the  night; 

Then  I  saw  that  the  truth  of  the  present  is  but 
the  truth  of  the  past, 

But  each  phase  is  greater,  and  grander,  and 
mightier  than  the  last  — 

That  the  past  is  ever  prophetic  of  that  which  is 
yet  to  be, 

And  that  God  reveals  his  glory  by  slow  and  dis 
tinct  degree ; 

Yet  still  are  the  nations  weeping  o'er  the  graves 
of  the  Truth  and  Right : 

Lo!  I  summon  another  Vala  —  let  her  prophesy 
to-night. 

With  the  amaranth,  and  the  myrtle,  and  the  aspho 
del  on  her  brow, 

Still  wet  with  the  dew  of  the  kingdom,  doth  she 
stand  before  you  now: 

"  Not  with  sound  of  many  thunders, 

Not  with  miracles  and  wonders, 
Would  I  herald  forth  my  coming  from  the   peace 
ful  spirit-shore ; 


116  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

But  in  God's  own  love  descending, 
With  your  aspirations  blending, 
I  would  teach  you  of  the  future,  that  you  watch 
and  weep  no  more. 

"  God  is  God  from  the  creation ; 
Truth,  alone,  is  man's  salvation: 
But  the  God  that  now  you  worship  soon  shall  be 

your  God  no  more ; 
For  the  soul,  in  its  unfolding, 
Evermore  its  thought  remoulding, 
Learns    more  truly,  in   its    progress,  'how  to  love 
and  to  adore!' 

"  Evil  is  of  Good,  twin  brother, 

Born  of  God,  and  of  none  other : 
And  though  Truth   seems  slain   of  Error,  through 

the  ills  that  men  deplore, 
Yet,  still  nearer  to  perfection, 
She  shall  know  a  resurrection, 
Passing    on  from  ceaseless  glory,  unto  glory  ever 
more. 

"  From  the   truths  of  former  ages, 
From  the  world's  close-lettered  pages, 


THE   PROPHECY   OF   VALA.  117 

Man  shall  learn  to  meet  more  bravely  all  the  life 

that  lies  before; 
For  the  day  of  retribution 
Is  the  final  restitution 
Of  the  good,  the   true,   the  holy,  which  shall  live 

forevermore ! 

'Understand  you  this,  or  no? 
Fare  you  well !   I  go  —  I  go ! ' " 


118  POEMS  FROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 


THE  KINGDOM. 

[Given  under  the  inspiration  of  Foe.] 
"  And  I  saw  no  temple  therein."  —  Rev.  21 : 22. 

'TWAS  the  ominous  month  of  October  — 

How  the  memories  rise  in  my  soul! 

How  they  swell  like  a  sea  in  my  soul!  — 
When  a  spirit,  sad,  silent,  and  sober, 

Whose  glance  was  a  word  of  control, 
Drew  me  down  to  the  dark  Lake  Avernus, 

In  the  desolate  Kingdom  of  Death  — 
To  the  mist-covered  Lake  of  Avernus, 

In  the  ghoul-haunted  Kingdom  of  Death. 

And  there,  as  I  shivered  and  waited, 
I  talked  with  the  Souls  of  the  Dead  — 
With  those  whom  the  living  call  dead; 

The  lawless,  the  lone,  and  the  hated, 


THE  KINGDOM.  119 

Who  broke  from  their  bondage  and  fled—— 

From  madness  and  misery  fled. 
Each  word  was  a  burning  eruption 

That  leapt  from  a  crater  of  flame  — 
A  red,  lava-tide  of  corruption, 

That  out  of  life's  sediment  came, 
From  the  scoriae  natures  God  gave  them, 

Compounded  of  glory  and  shame. 

"  Aboard ! "  cries  our  pilot  and  leader ; 

Then  wildly  we  rush  to  embark, 

We  recklessly  rush  to  embark; 
And  forth  in  our  ghostly  Ellida* 

We  swept  in  the  silence  and  dark  — 
O  God !  on  that  black  Lake  Avernus, 

Where  vampyres  drink  even  the  breath, 
On  that  terrible  Lake  of  Avernus, 

Leading  down  to  the  whirlpool  of  Death ! 

It  was  there  the  Eumenidesf  found  us, 
In  sight  of  no  shelter  or  shore  — 
No  beacon  or  light  from  the  shore. 

*  The  dragon-ship  of  the  Norse  mythology. 
t  The  Fates  and  Furies. 


120  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

They  lashed  up  the  white  waves  around  us, 
We  sank  in  the  waters'  wild  roar; 

But  not  to  the  regions  infernal, 

Through  billows  of  sulphurous  flame, 

But  unto  the  City  Eternal, 

The  Home  of  the  Blessed,  we  came. 

To  the  gate  of  the  Beautiful  City, 
All  fainting  and  weary  we  pressed, 
Impatient  and  hopeful  we  pressed. 

"O,  Heart  of  the  Holy,  take  pity, 
And  welcome  us  home  to  our  rest! 

Pursued  by  the  Fates  and  the  Furies, 
In  darkness  and  danger  we  fled  — 

From  the  pitiless  Fates  and  the  Furies, 
Through  the  desolate  realms  of  the  Dead." 

"  Jure  Dimno,  I  here  claim  admission  ! " 

Exclaimed    a  proud  prelate,  who  rushed  to  the 

gate ; 
u  Ave  Sanctissima-i  hear  my  petition 

Holy  Saint  Peter;  O,  why  should  I  wait? 
O,  fons  pietatis,  O,  glorious  flood, 
My  soul    is   washed    clean    in   the  Lamb's  precious 
blood." 


THE    KINGDOM.  121 

Like  the  song  of  a  bird  that  yet  lingers, 

When  the  wide-wandering  warbler  has  flown; 

Like  the  wind-harp  by  Eolus  blown, 
As  if  touched  by  the  lightest  of  fingers, 

The  portal  wide  open  was  thrown ; 
And  we  saw — not  the  holy  Saint  Peter, 

Not  even  an  angel  of  light, 
But  a  vision  far  dearer  and  sweeter, 

Not  brilliant  nor  blindingly  bright, 

But  marvellous  unto  the  sight! 

In  the  midst  of  the  mystical  splendor, 
Stood  a  beautiful,  beautiful  child  — 
A  golden-haired,  azure-eyed  child. 

With  a  look  that  was  touching  and  tender, 
She  stretched  out  her  white  hand  and  smiled  : 

"  Ay,  welcome,  thrice  welcome,  poor  mortals, 
O,  why  do  ye  linger  and  wait? 

Come  fearlessly  in  at  these  portals  — 
No  warder  keeps  watch  at  the  gate!" 

"  Gloria  Deo!    Te  Deum  laudamus  !  " 

Exclaimed   the    proud  prelate,    "I'm  safe  into 
Heaven ; 

11 


122  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

Through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,  and  the  martyrs 

who  claim  us, 

My   soul   has    been   purchased,  my  sins  are  for 
given  ! 

I   tread   where   the   saints   and   the   martyrs    have 
trod — 

Lead  on,  thou  fair  child,  to  the  temple  of  God ! " 

The  child  stood  in  silence  and  wonder, 

Then  bowed  down  her  beautiful  head, 

And  even  as  fragrance  is  shed 
From  the  lily  the  waves  have  swept  under, 

She  meekly  and  tenderly  said  — 

So  simply  and  truthfully  said: 
"In  vain  do  ye  seek  to  behold  Him; 

He  dwells  in  no  temple  apart ; 
The  height  of  the  Heavens  cannot  hold  him, 

And  yet  he  is  here  in  my  heart  — 

He  is  here,  and  he  will  not  depart." 

Then  out  from  the  mystical  splendor, 
The  swift-changing,  crystalline  light, 
The  rainbow-hued,  scintillant  light, 

Gleamed  faces  more  touching  and  tender 


THE   KINGDOM.  123 

Than  ever  had  greeted  our  sight  — 

Our  sin-blinded,  death-darkened  sight; 
And  they  sang :  "  Welcome  home  to  the  Kingdom, 

Ye  earth-born  and  serpent-beguiled; 
The  Lord  is  the  light  of  this  Kingdom, 

And  His  temple  the  heart  of  a  child  — 

Of  a  trustful  and  teachable  child, 
Ye  are  born  to  the  life  of  the  Kingdom  — 

Receive,  and  believe,  as  a  child." 


124  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


THE  CRADLE  OR  COFFIN. 

[Given  under  the  inspiration  of  Foe.] 

THE  Cradle  or  Coffin,  the  robe  or  the  shroud, 

Of  which  shall  a  mortal  most  truly  be  proud  ? 
The  cradle  rocks  light  as  a  boat  on  the  billow, 
The  child  lies  asleep  on  his  soft,  downy  pillow, 

And  the  mother  sits  near  with  her  love-lighted 

eyes,  — 

Sits   watching  her  treasure,  and  dreamily  singing, 
While    the    cradle    keeps   time,    like   a    pendulum 
swinging, 

And  notes  every  moment  of  bliss  as  it  flies. 

Lullaby  baby  —  watch  o'er  his  rest ! 

The  dear  little  fledgling  asleep  in  his  nest. 
How  blest  is  that  slumber  —  how  calm  he  reposes, 
With  his  sweet,  pouting  lips,  and  his  cheeks  flushed 
with  roses ! 


THE  CRADLE  OR  COFFIN.         125 

O,  God  of  the  Innocent,  would  it  might  last ! 
But  know,  thou  fond  mother,  beyond  thy  perceiving, 
The  Parcse  are  near  him,  and  steadily  weaving 

The  meshes  of  Fate  which  around  him  they  cast ! 

Lullaby  baby — let  him  not  wake! 

Soon  shall  the  bubble  of  infancy  break; 
Life,  with  its  terrors  and  fears,  shall  surround  him, 
Evil  and    Good   with   strange   problems    confound 
him, 

And,  as  the  charmed  bird  to  the  serpent  is  drawn, 
The  demons  of  hell,  from  his  proudest  position, 
Shall  drag  down  his   soul  to  the   depths  of  perdi 
tion, 

Till  he  bitterly  curses  the  day  he  was  born! 

The  Cradle  or  Coffin,  the  blanket  or  pall — 
O,  which  brings  a  blessing  of  peace  unto  all  ? 
How  still  is  the  Coffin!     No  undulant  motion; 
Becalmed  like  a  boat  on  the  breast  of  the  ocean. 
And  there  lies  the  child,  with  his  half-curtained 

eyes, 

While  his  mother  stands  near  him,  her  love-watch 
still  keeping, 

11* 


126  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

And  kisses  his  pale  lips  with  wailing  and  weeping, 
Till   her   anguish    is  dumb,  or  can  speak   but  in 
sighs. 

He  needs  not  a  lullaby  now  for  his  rest; 

The  fledgling  has  fluttered,  and   flown  from   his 

nest. 
He  starts  not,  he  breathes  not,  he  knows  no  awak- 

ing» 

Though  sad  eyes  are  weeping  and  fond  hearts  are 

breaking. 

O,  God  of  all  mercy,  how  strange  are  thy  ways ! 
Yet    know,    thou    fond    mother,    beyond   thy   per 
ceiving, 

The  angels  who  took  him  are  tenderly  weaving 
His  vestments  of  beauty,  his  garments  of  praise, 

O,  call  him  not  back  to  earth's  weariness  now, 
For  blossoms  unfading  encircle  his  brow; 
From  glory  to  glory  forever  ascending, 
His  soul  with  the  soul  of  the  Infinite  blending, 

Great  luminous  truths  on  his  being  shall  dawn. 
With   no  doubts  to   distract  him,   or   stay  his  en 
deavor, 


THB*  CRADLE   OB   COFFIN.  127 

He  shall  bless  in  his  progress,  forever  and  ever, 
The  day  that  his  soul  to  the  Kingdom  was  born. 

The  Cradle  or  Coffin,  the  robe  or  the  shroud, 
Of  which  shall  a  mortal  most  truly  be  proud? 
The  Cradle  or  Coffin,  the  blanket  or  pall, 
O,  which  brings  a  blessing  of  peace  unto  all  ? 
The  Cradle  or  Coffin,  both  places  of  rest  — 
Tell  us,  O  mortals,  which  like  ye  the  best? 


128  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


THE  STREETS   OF  BALTIMORE. 

"  EDGAR  A.  POE.  —  As  the  circumstances  attendant  upon  the  death 
of  Poe  are  not  generally  known,  it  may  be  well  to  present  the  facts 
in  connection  with  the  following-  poem.  Having-  occasion  to  pass 
through  Baltimore  a  few  days  before  his  intended  marriage  with  a 
lady  of  family  and  fortune  in  Virginia,  Poe  met  with  some  of  his  old 
associates,  who  induced  him  to  drink  with  them,  although,  as  we  are 
informed,  he  had  entirely  abstained  for  a  year.  This  aroused  the  appe 
tite  which  had  so  long  slumbered  within  him,  and  in  a  short  time  he 
wandered  forth  into  the  street  in  a  state  of  drunken  delirium,  and  was 
found  next  morning  literally  dying  from  exposure.  He  was  taken  to 
a  hospital,  and  on  the  7th  of  October.  1849,  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight, 
he  closed  his  troubled  life.  The  tortures  and  terrors  of  that  night  of 
suffering  are  vividly  portrayed  in  the  following  poem,  composed  in 
spirit-life,  and  given  by  him  through  the  mcdiumship  of  Miss  Lizzie 
Doten,  at  the  conclusion  of  her  lecture  in  Baltimore,  on  Sunday  even 
ing,  January  11,  1833."  —  Banner  of  Light. 

WOMAN  weak,  find  woman  mortal, 
Through  thy  spirit's  open  portal, 
I  would  read  the  Runic  record 
Of  mine  earthly  being  o'er  — 
I  would  feel  that  fire  returning, 
Which  within  my  soul  was  burning, 


THE   STREETS   OF   BALTIMORE.  129 

When  my  star  was  quenched  in  darkness, 
Set,  to  rise  on  earth  no  more, 

When  I  sank  beneath  life's  burden 
In  the  streets  of  Baltimore ! 

O,  those  memories,  sore  and  saddening ! 
O,  that  night  of  anguish  maddening! 

When  my  lone  heart  suffered  shipwreck 

On   a   demon-haunted   shore  — 
When  the   fiends  grew  wild  with  laughter, 
And  the  silence  following  after, 
Was  more   awful  and  appalling 

Than  the  cannons  deadly  roar  — 
Than  the  tramp  of  mighty  armies 
Through  the  streets  of  Baltimore ! 

Like  a  fiery  serpent  coiling, 
Like  a  Maelstrom  madly  boiling, 
Did  this  Phlegethon  of  fury 

Sweep  my  shuddering  spirit  o'er! 
Rushing  onward,  blindly  reeling, 
Tortured  by  intensest  feeling  — 

Like  Prometheus,  when  the  vultures 
Through  his  quivering  vitals  tore  — 


130  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 


Swift  I  fled  from  death   and  darkness, 
Through  the  streets  of  Baltimore ! 


No  one  near  to  save  or  love  me! 
No  kind  face  to  watch  above  me ! 

Though  I  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps, 

Like  the  waves  upon  the  shore, 
Beating,  beating,  beating,  beating! 
Now  advancing,  now  retreating  — 
With  a  dull  and  dreamy  rhythm  — 

With  a  long,  continuous  roar  — 
Heard  the  sound  of  human  footsteps, 
In  the  streets  of  Baltimore ! 

There  at  length  they  found  me  lying, 

Weak  and  'wihlered,  sick  and  dying, 

And  my  shattered  wreck  of  being 

To  a  kindly  refuge  bore  ! 
But  my  woe  was  past  enduring, 
And  my  soul  cast  off  its  mooring, 
Crying,  as  I  floated  outward, 

"I  am  of  the  earth  no  more! 
I  have  forfeited  life's  blessing 

O 

In  the  streets  of  Baltimore! " 


THE   STEEET3    OF   BALTIMORE.  131 

Where  wast  tliou,  O  Power  Eternal! 
When  the  fiery  fiend,  infernal, 
Beat  me  with  his  burning  fasces, 

Till  I  sank  to  rise  no  more? 
O,  was  all  my  life-long  error 
Crowded  in  that  night  of  terror  ? 
Did  my  sin  find  expiation, 

Which  to  judgment  went  before, 
Summoned  to  a  dread  tribunal, 
In  the  streets  of  Baltimore  ? 

Nay,  with  deep,  delirious  pleasure, 
I  had  drained  my  life's  full  measure, 
Till  the  fatal,  fiery  serpent, 

Fed  upon  my  being's  core! 
Then  with  force  and  fire  volcanic, 
Summoning  a  strength  Titanic, 

Did  I  burst  the  bonds  that  bound  me  — 

Battered  down  my  being's  door; 
Fled,  and  left  my  shattered  dwelling 
To  the  dust  of  Baltimore! 

Gazing  back  without  lamenting, 
With  no  sorrowful  repenting, 


132-  -         '    POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

I  can  read  my  life's  sad  stoiy 
In  a  light  unknown  before! 
For  there  is  no  woe  so  dismal, 
Not  an  evil  GO  abysmal, 

But  a  rainbow  arch  of  glory 

Spans  the  yawning  chasm  o'er! 
And  across  that  Bridge  of  Beauty    . 
Did  I  pass  from  Baltimore ! 

In  that  grand,  Eternal  City, 
Where  the  angel-hearts  take  pity 
On  the  sin  which  men  forgive  not, 

Or  inactively  deplore, 
Earth  lias  lost  the  power  to  harm  me! 
Death  can  never  more  alarm  me, 
And  I  drink  fresh  inspiration 

From  the  Source  which  I  adore  — 
Through  my  Spirit's  apotheosis  — 
That  new  birth  in  Baltimore! 

Now  no  longer  sadly  yearning  — 
Love  for  love  finds  sweet  returning  — 
And  there  comes  no  ghostly  raven, 
Tapping  at  my  chamber  door! 


THE   STREETS    OF    BALTOKO 

Calmly,  in  the  golden  glory, 
I  can  sit  and  read  life's  story. 

For  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow 

Hath  been  lifted  evermore  — 
From  that  deep  and  dismal  shadow, 
In  the  streets  of  Baltimore! 
12 


134  POEMS    FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 


[As  the  following  lecture  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  an  introduction  to 
Poe'B  "  Farewell  to  Earth,"  it  has  been  considered  advisable  to  publish 
it  in  connection  with  the  poem.] 


THE  MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS. 

A  LECTURE  DELIVERED   BY   MISS   LIZZIE   DOTEN,   AT 
CLINTON  HALL,   MONDAY,   P.  M.,   NOV.  2,  1863. 

[Phonographically  reported  by  Robert  S.  Moore.] 

FOR  several  reasons,  we  must  be  as  brief  and  com 
prehensive  as  possible  in  our  remarks  to-night.  We 
do  not  intend  to  make  any  great  intellectual  effort, 
or  to  endeavor  to  astonish  you  with  lofty  strains  of 
eloquence.  We  simply  desire  to  present  to  you 
a  few  facts  in  connection  with  the  poem  about 
to  be  given,  and  we  do  this  under  the  distinctive 
title  of  our  discourse, —  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  GODLI 
NESS. 

As  Godliness  was  a  mystery  in  the  past,  so  is  it 
in  the  present.  And  why  is  it  a  mystery?  Because 
men  understand  so  little  of  the  practice  of  Godliness. 


THE   MYSTERIES    OF   GODLINESS.  135 

Socrates  was  accustomed  to  say  that  "  a  man  was 
always  sufficiently  eloquent  in  that  which  he  clearly 
understood;"  and  thus  a  man  will  not  look  upon 
that  as  a  mystery  which  is  a  part  of  his  daily  life, 
and  with  which  he  has  become  familiar  through  ex 
perience.  But  as  it  was  in  the  days  when  Jesus 
lived  and  taught,  or  when  Paul  wrote  his  Epistle  to 
Timothy,  so  Godliness,  to  the  great  mass  of  minds, 
remains  a  mystery.  When  Paul  penned  those 
words,  —  "  Without  controversy,  great  is  the  mys 
tery  of  Godliness :  God  was  manifest  in  the  flesh, 
justified  in  the  spirit,  seen  of  angels,  preached  unto 
the  Gentiles,  believed  on  in  the  world,  and  received 
up  into  glory,"  —  he  referred  particularly  to  the  life 
and  teachings  of  Jesus.  We,  however,  give  to  the 
passage  a  more  comprehensive  and  extended  appli 
cation.  If  the  "Mystery  of  Godliness"  was  made 
manifest  in  the  life  of  Jesus  because  of  his  divinity, 
then  do  we  say  to  the  men  of  the  present  day, 
"Beloved,  now  are  ye  also  sons  of  God."  And  if 
"  the  Word  was  made  flesh,  and  dwelt  in  the  midst 
of  men,"  in  the  person  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  so  that 
same  "Word  is  incarnated,  in  greater  or  less  degree, 
in  every  human  being,  be  he  rich  or  poor,  black  or 


136  POEMS   FEOM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

white,  bond  or  free.  In  the  same  way,  also,  every 
one  possessing  a  living  soul  is  a  manifestation  of 
the  mystery  of  Godliness.  And  when  a  man  goes 
into  his  own  nature,  when  he  understands  himself, 
when  he  reads  the  mysteries  of  his  own  being,  when 
he  looks  away  from  his  positive  and  earthly  neces 
sities  up  to  his  Divine  possibilities,  and  sees'how  vast 
is  the  range,  how  infinite  his  capabilities,  then  he 
begins  to  understand  something  of  the  mysteries  of 
Godliness.  The  Church  has  used  this  phraseology 
in  the  past,  and  knew  not  what  it  meant.  She  had 
"  the  form  of  Godliness,"  and  yet  in  word  and  deed, 
ay,  in  very  thought,  she  "  denied  the  power  thereof." 
Therefore  it  has  been,  in  all  past  time,  when  there 
were  some  true  and  sincere  souls  in  the  Church, 
who  made  manifest,  both  by  profession  and  practice, 
that  in  part  at  least,  they  comprehended  the  mystery 
of  Godliness,  which  is  the  highest  spirituality,  —  not 
Spiritualism,  —  and  let  it  flow  out  into  the  beauty 
and  harmony  of  perfect  lives,  the  Church  looked  at 
them  with  a  doubtful  countenance.  There  was  such 
a  thing  as  being  too  holy,  and  the  Church  felt  that 
such  lives  were  a  reproach  to  her  self-righteousness 
and  hypocrisy.  She  was  not  familiar  with  the  man- 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  137 

ifestation  of  true  Godliness,  and  consequently 
looked  upon  it  as  something  that  threatened  hef 
internal  peace,  and  the  success  of  her  stereotyped 
plan  of  salvation.  Therefore  it  was,  that  the  voice 
of  condemnation  was  raised  against  Michael  De 
Molinos,  Fenelon,  Madame  Guyon,  and  the  whole 
host  of  Quietists  and  Reformers.  By  dim  forecast- 
ings  of  the  soul,  and  heroic  struggling  with  flesh 
and  sense,  they  had  learned  something  of  that  holy 
mystery.  It  was  that  which  could  not  be  translated 
into  human  language.  It  could  not  be  written  in 
books,  but  it  was  that  which  was  to  be  felt  in  the 
soul,  and  made  manifest  in  the  life.  Godliness,  true 
spirituality,  cannot  find  expression  in  words,  and  so 
it  must  of  necessity  manifest  its  Divine  beauty  in 
the  life. 

But  what  is  the  idea  we  intend  to  convey  when 
we  use  the  term  "  Godliness  "  ?  Who  is  God,  from 
whose  name  this  word  is  simply  a  derivative  ?  God 
liness  is  the  manifestation  of  his  spirit  and  power 
in  the  soul  of  man,  yet  it  is  not  God.  Who,  then, 
is  He !  We  must  look  into  the  lexicon  of  every 
human  heart  to  find  our  reply/*/ for  each  one  wor 
ships  his  own  Ideal  of  Deity  According  to  the  rev- 
12* 


138  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

elation  of  Truth  which  he  receives,  and  to  the  ca 
pacity  of  his  spirit  to  comprehend./  j  The  old  phi 
losophers  sought  for  God  in  all  the  external  world ; 
they  also  went  down  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
spirit,  as  far  as  philosophy  could  sound  its  mighty 
depths,  and  yet  they  could  not  fathom  his  infinite 
nature.  Although  form  and  an  external  are  neces 
sary  to  man  as  a,  completion  of  his  idea,  yet  when 
he  reasons  deeply  concerning  Deity,  he  cannot  arrive 
at  any  satisfactory  conclusions  concerning  his  person 
ality  ;  he  can  only  worship  him  as  a  principle,  as  a 
presence,  and  a  power.  Man,  in  his  insignificance, 
can  only  look  up  to  that  superior  Intelligence,  which 
manifests  itself  throughout  Nature,  and  worship 
either  in  the  silence  of  the  heart  or  in  the  inade 
quate  articulations  of  human  speech.  The  finite 
never  did  as  yet  compass  and  comprehend  the  In 
finite.  And  before  that  majestic  question  which  all 
the  Ages  have  sought  in  vain  to  answer,  before  that 
mighty  Oracle  whose  essence  and  nature  have  never 
been  understood,  man  might  as  well  remain  dumb. 
But  where,  you  ask,  shall  man  find  his  highest 
manifestation  of  Deity  ?  How  shall  he  know  and 
understand  God,  so  that  he  may  attain  unto  the 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  139 

true  mystery  of  Godliness  ?  The  most  of  God  that 
you  can  know  is  through  your  own  souls.  Your 
neighbor  may  speak  unto  you  of  the  influences 
which  flow  in  upon  him  from  the  great  Soul  of  all ; 
you  can  only  listen,  but  cannot  comprehend,  unless 
there  is  something  of  the  same  spirit  —  of  the  same 
Divine  life  within  you.  But  as  you  grow  in  good 
ness  and  spirituality,  you  comprehend  more  clearly 
the  truth  which  Jesus,  the  greatest  Medium  the 
world  ever  knew,  spoke  to  the  ears  of  men,  when 
he  said,  "God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  him 
must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth."  There 
fore  our  definition  of  Godliness  is  spirituality,  the 
influence  of  God  felt  in  the  soul  and  made  manifest 
in  the  life  of  man.  Just  in  proportion  as  this  prin 
ciple  or  power  is  realized  in  the  hearts  of  men, 
they  approach  nearer  unto  Deity ;  they  see  more  of 
his  perfect  life ;  they  understand  more  of  his  ways ; 
they  leave  speculations  concerning  his  personality, 
and  go  away  to  those  great  generalizations  whereby 
a  man's  soul  grows  comprehensive  and  universal  in 
its  sympathies,  and  beholds  the  operations  of  the 
Infinite  mind  in  all  things.  Thus,  as  Jesus  was  a 
manifestation  of  that  Godliness  or  spirituality,  the 


140  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

self-same  Divine  power — the  "Divine  in  the  human" 
is  manifest  in  every  sentient  being. 

And  here  we  approach  a  mighty  truth,  in  whose 
majestic  presence  we  feel  inclined  to  lay  aside  our 
dusty  sandals;  for  the  place  whereon  we  stand 
seems  holy  ground.  While  studying  the  mysteries 
of  our  own  being,  we  find  that  necessarily  we 
worship  Everlasting  Truth,  in  whatever  form  it  may 
be  presented.  We  go  away  from  limitations,  we 
go  away  from  sects  and  creeds,  from  tottering  in 
stitutions  and  the  musty  theologies  of  the  past,  and 
stand  face  to  face  with  that  fresher  revelation  of 
Deity  in  the  heart.  Then  it  is  that  man  feels 
there  are  primary  and  fundamental  truths  lying  at 
the  basis  of  all  philosophy  and  all  religion,  and  only 
as  he  builds  upon  these  broad  foundations  can  he 
rear  a  glorious  superstructure  against  which  all  the 
winds  of  changing  theories,  and  the  descending 
floods  of  mere  speculative  philosophy,  will  not  be 
able  to  prevail.  As  man,  like  one  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  Masonry,  enters  into  this  lodge  of  free 
dom,  he  begins  to  believe  in  himself.  No  man  can 
have  faith  in  God  who  has  no  faith  in  himself;  that 
is  the  first  step  towards  the  Divine.  You  take  that 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  141 

step  in  the  secret  of  the  soul  when  you  first  ac 
knowledge  the  "  Divine  in  the  human,"  and  confess 
its  supporting  influence. 

For  instance,  two  men  may  be  standing  on  the 
borders  of  a  precipice :  below,  there  is  the  deep 
ravine;  opposite,  the  other  side  of  the  mountain. 
They  look  far  down  and  see  rough,  ragged  points 
of  rocks,  and  far,  far  below,  the  floods  boiling  white 
with  foam.  Over  this  abyss  there  is  but  one  slight, 
frail  bridge,  and  that  is  the  trunk  of  a  single  tree. 
One  man  says,  "  Since  we  must  pass  over,  I  will 
precede.  I  know  that  I  can  go ;  I  will  go."  That 
man  has  faith  in  himself.  He  plants  his  feet  firmly ; 
he  looks  upward,  and  passes  safely  over.  The  second 
says,  "I  do  not  believe  that  I  can  go;  I  fear  I  shall 
fall."  He  totters  on,  trembling,  until  he  reaches  the 
middle,  and  then  cries  out,  "O  Lord,  Lord,  help 
me ! "  So  surely  as  he  utters  that  cry,  faithless  in 
his  own  power,  that  man  must  fall. 

And  thus  it  is  with  human  souls.  They  are 
standing  here,  in  earthly  life,  gazing  across  the  great 
abyss  of  the  Future.  It  is  dark  and  terrible  below. 
They  cannot  clearly  understand  what  fate  awaits 
them,  but  they  see  the  strait  and  narrow  way  before 


142  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

them.  If  a  man  plants  his  feet  firmly,  and  says, 
"  I  can,  and  I  will,"  it  is  the  greatest  possible  ac 
knowledgement  of  his  faith  in  God.  That  man 
has  stepped  upon  the  threshold  of  the  mysteries 
of  Godliness ;  those  mysteries  will  be  made  clearer 
and  more  apparent  to  his  soul  as  he  advances.  But 
if,  with  craven  soul,  he  says,  "I  know  not  what  to 
do.  I  will  wait  for  God's  providences,  and  let  them 
come  as  they  may  ;  for  of  myself  I  can  do  nothing," 
—  if  he  trust  to  the  vicarious  atonement  and  an 
external  Deity,  and  does  nothing  for  his  own  sal 
vation, —  if,  in  making  oral  prayers  to  the  Lord  of 
the  Universe,  he  forgets  to  "  worship  God  in  spirit," 
and  loses  the  vitalizing  consciousness  of  the  Divine 
within  his  own  being,  that  man  will  assuredly  err ; 
he  will  continually  go  astray,  for  externally  he  has 
"  the  form  of  Godliness,"  but  practically  and  inter 
nally  he  denies  "the  power  thereof." 

The  world  to-day  is  standing,  in  a  certain  sense, 
in  that  same  position.  Men  are  lifting  up  their 
hands,  and  crying,  "Lord,  Lord!"  believing  that 
they  shall  thus  enter  into  the  kingdom,  while 
within  their  own  beings  there  is  a  broad  region  of 
spiritual  mysteries  unknown  and  unexplored.  Here 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  143 

and  there  are  instances  where  souls,  driven  by  the 
action  of  their  own  importunate  reason,  —  ay,  we 
may  say,  by  simple  common  sense,  —  have  turned 
aside  from  creeds  and  theories,  and  have  inquired 
earnestly  of  Nature  and  of  the  God  within.  It  is 
refreshing  at  times  to  find  such  a  soul :  one  that 
believes  in  the  inspiration  of  the  living  Word,  incar 
nated  in  all  flesh,  and  made  apparent  throughout 
the  universe,  —  not  a  Pantheist,  believing  in  the 
manifestation  of  Deity  in  Nature  alone,  and  in 
nothing  higher,  but  realizing  that  the  creation  is 
the  perceptible  and  external  revelation  of  Deity; 
believing,  with  the  German  philosopher  Fichte,  that 
"there  is  a  Divine  Idea  pervading  this  visible  uni 
verse  ;  which  visible  universe  is  indeed  but  its 
symbol  and  sensible  manifestation,  having  in  itself 
no  meaning,  or  even  true  existence,  independent 
of  it.  To  the  mass  of  men  this  Divine  Idea  lies 
hidden ;  yet,  to  discern  it,  to  seize  it,  and  live 
wholly  in  it,  is  the  condition  of  all  genuine  virtue, 
knowledge,  freedom,  and  the  end,  therefore,  of  all 
spiritual  effort  in  every  age."  He  who  lives  and 
dwells  in  this  Idea,  enters  into  the  mysteries  of 
Godliness.  All  divine  things  are  exceedingly  sim- 


144  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

pie  when  they  are  known.  It  is  because  men  are 
looking  too  high  that  they  do  not  receive  the 
living  inspirations  of  the  Truth ;  they  turn  away 
from  themselves,  and  neglect  to  observe  the  mani 
festation  of  the  spirit  within  their  own  being. 
They  look  upon  their  brother  man  or  sister  woman, 
and  forget  to  exercise  that  broad  charity  which  sees 
the  spirit  struggling  with  the  flesh,  or  feebly  breast 
ing  the  wild  waves  of  a  tempestuous  life,  simply 
because  it  was  thus  constituted  and  surrounded. 
Men  commonly  judge  from  their  own  individual 
stand-point,  instead  of  going  away  back  to  the  Di 
vinity  of  the  inner  life,  and  from  its  pure  eyes 
looking  into  the  heart  of  their  erring  brother  or 
sister.  He  who  simply  criticizes  the  man,  and 
judges  him  by  the  limitations  of  his  own  life,  errs 
greatly.  But  he  who  looks  beyond  and  behind 
him,  sees  that  there  are  truths,  and  principles,  and 
powers,  and  loving,  earnest  spirits,  who  are  en 
deavoring  to  make  manifest  their  inspiration  through 
him;  and  although  he  may  be  changeable  in  his 
nature,  although  he  may  be  erratic  and  wandering, 
it  is  only  through  the  excess  of  power  that  cannot 
find  an  appropriate  manifestation  through  such  an 
organization. 


THE  MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  145 

And  such  a  one  was  he  of  whom  we  speak  to 
night, —  that  erratic  genius,  EDGAR  A.  POE.  The 
mysteries  of  Godliness,  —  not  of  morality,  as  the 
world  understands  it,  —  confounded  him.  He  could 
see  more  clearly  than  most  of  men.  He  looked 
out  into  the  vast  arcana  of  Nature,  and  his  soul 
trembled  before  the  majestic  revelation.  He  knew 
not  how  to  express,  in  any  adequate  form  of  speech, 
those  great  and  mighty  thoughts  which  rose  and 
shone,  like  stars  of  wondrous  beauty,  in  his  soul ; 
he  knew  not  how  to  give  his  burning  inspirations 
a  manifestation  through  his  life  and  being. 

Edgar  A.  Poe  was  a  medium.  "  A  medium ! " 
you  say.  "  He  himself  would  scorn  the  name ;  and 
we,  who  knew  him,  deny  it."  But  of  what  was  he 
a  medium?  We  do  not  confine  ourselves  to  that 
definition  of  the  term  given  by  modern  Spiritual 
ists.  He  was  a  medium  for  the  general  inspiration 
which  sets  like  a  current  of  living  fire  through  the 
universe.  No  special,  no  individual  spirit  wrought 
directly  upon  him,  but  he  felt  the  might  and  majes 
ty  of  occult  forces  from  the  world  of  causes,  and 
trembled  beneath  their  influence.  He  was  a  me 
dium,  not  to  disembodied  spirits,  only  so  far  as 
13 


146  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

mind  acts  upon  mind  by  the  great  law  of  unity, 
and  in  the  same  way  was  he  psychologically  affected 
by  spirits  in  the  body.  He  had  a  peculiarly  sensi 
tive  and  impressible  nature,  and  in  the  mysteries 
of  a  spirituality  which  he  did  not  seek  to  compre 
hend,  he  was  easily  wrought  upon  by  the  minds 
around  him.  Not  but  what  he  possessed  self-will ; 
not,  indeed,  that  he  lacked  that  firmness,  whereby, 
when  his  soul  was  aroused,  he  could  repel  such  influ 
ences.  But  his  nature  was  so  finely  strung  that 
every  harsh  word,  every  unkindly  discord,  grated 
and  thrilled  through  his  entire  being,  so  that  often 
times  it  would  seem  as  though  he  would  beat  down 
the  wall  of  clay  to  give  his  spirit  freedom,  and  to 
escape  forever  from  the  inharmonious  influences  of 
the  world,  —  from  the  presence  of  those  by  whom 
he  was  so  little  understood. 

It  is  difficult  to  comprehend  such  natures,  for 
they  are  not  common.  But,  alas  for  such!  They 
have  no  choice  but  to  be  denizens  of  this  world,  and 
all  the  rough,  sharp  angles  of  rude  Humanity  seem 
continually  to  wound  and  irritate  their  sensitive 
ness,  torturing  them  almost  to  madness.  And  yet 
there  is  a  deep,  strong  under-current  to  their  lives. 


THE   MYSTERIES    OF   GODLINESS.  147 

There  is  a  beautiful  spirituality  which  leads  men 
to  perceive  that  there  is  a  power  in  the  universe 
which  balances  all  these  inequalities  and  apparent 
inharmonies  of  human  beings ;  and  so,  although 
they  are  set  at  variance  with  the  world  in  certain 
portions  of  their  nature,  yet  they  are  rewarded  in 
others.  Edgar  A.  Poe  possessed  the  power  of 
retiring  from  external  things  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  spirit.  The  greatest  authors  and  musical  com 
posers  the  world  ever  knew,  were  those  whose 
favorite  pursuit  so  completely  absorbed  them  that 
all'  external  things  were  excluded,  and  they  forgot, 
while  their  inspirations  were  upon  them,  what 
manner  of  men  they  were,  —  forgot  the  necessities 
of  the  flesh,  and  all  the  surroundings  of  their  daily 
lives.  Such  men  could  understand  our  meaning, 
when  we  say  that  Edgar  A.  Poe  lived  much  in 
his  inner  life,  and  there,  as  in  the  experience 
of  the  soul-rapt  and  inspired  Boehmen,  glorious 
revelations  of  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful  were 
made  manifest  unto  him.  The  common  forms  of 
human  speech  were  inadequate  for  expression ; 
therefore /the  seized  upon  the  secret  harmony  of 
words,  and  strung  them  like  flashing  gems  on  the 


148  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

golden  line  of  his  thought,  weaving  them  into  wild, 
strange  metaphors,  oftentimes  so  bewildering  and 
dazzling,  that  the  common  mind  could  only  feel 
the  charm  without  comprehending  the  mystery. 
Like  Ezekiel  in  his  vision,  he  beheld  the  wondrous 
"living  creatures,  and  the  wheels,"  and  as  they 
were  represented,  so  did  he  describe  them;  but 
the  mind  of  the  reader  must  be  in  a  similar  state 
of  illumination  in  order  to  clearly  understand  his 
meaning.  There  were  seasons  when  he  seemed  to 
enter  into  a  peaceful  alliance  with  earth  and  all 
harmonious  and  beautiful  things.  Yet  when  his 
peculiarly  sensitive  nature  was  startled  and  aroused, 
he  turned  back  to  this  Valhalla  of  his  soul,  and 
there  he  found  another  element  of  peace,  —  a 
strange,  paradoxical  peace,  which  comes  through 
the  herculean  efforts  of  the  soul  to  clamber  up  the 
rugged  heights  of  destiny,  —  such  peace  as  is 
given  unto  souls,  when  the  angel,  with  a  naming 
sword,  drives  them  from  the  Eden  places  of  this 
world  back  into  the  mysteries  of  their  being,  in 
order  that  from  their  bloody  sweat  and  bitter 
agony  they  may  wring  out  great  song^>f  moving 
inspiration,  and  reveal  to  mankind  generally  the 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  149 

wondrous  world  of  ideas  and  causes  which  lies 
beyond  the  limits  of  sense  and  the  range  of  ex 
ternal  observation. 

All  such  are  men  of  Destiny.  They  are  com 
pelled  over  the  ways  which  they  tread.  The  world 
looks  upon  them,  and  cannot  understand  them ; 
men  consider  them  as  anomalies  and  strange  incon 
sistencies  ;  as  abnormal  manifestations  of  the  spirit. 
Yet  "for  this  cause  came  they  into  the  world;" 
and  as  poets,  and  artists,  and  musical  composers 
are  born  with  the  undeveloped  elements  of  their 
genius  within  them,  so  particular  souls,  in  close  con 
nection  with  the  spiritual  world,  who  are  contin 
ually  receiving  direct  impressions  and  revelations 
from  the  sphere  of  causes,  are  born  such  from  their 
cradle ;  and  thus  the  mystery  of  spirituality  or  god 
liness,  as  the  world  passes  on  generation  after  gen 
eration,  is  becoming  more  and  more  apparent  in 
the  lives  and  experiences  of  men.  When  we  speak 
of  spirituality,  do  not  consider  that  we  mean  mod 
ern  Spiritualism,  as  understood  by  the  world,  which 
has  furnished  any  amount  of  sheep's  clothing  to  the 
wolves  who  desire  to  prey  upon  the  lambs  in  the 
unguarded  fold  of  Humanity.  Neither  do  we  mean 
13* 


150  POEMS   FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 

that  inflated  spirituality,  which,  in  its  zeal  for  re 
form,  and  contempt  for  ceremonies  and  limitations, 
rushes  to  extremes,  and,  deceiving  itself,  "  uses  its 
liberty  as  an  occasion  to  the  flesh."  But  we  do 
mean  that  living  principle,  which  makes  itself  man 
ifest  in  high-toned  souls,  whose  sublime  aspirations 
exalt  the  whole  life  above  the  common  tevel  of 
Humanity.  It  may  come  out  as  a  fitful  and  glim 
mering  light,  but  it  shows  that  the  Divine  inspira 
tion  is  there,  and  all  men,  when  they  perceive  it, 
are  ready  to  acknowledge  it  as  genuine.  Whatever 
is  truly  good,  glorious,  or  divine,  that  which  pos 
sesses  in  itself  real  merit  and  inspiration,  cannot 
fail  to  find  a  responsive  echo.  And  thus  was  it 
with  the  writings  of  Poe.  When,  from  the  glowing 
fire-crypts  of  his  soul,  he  wrought  out,  with  master 
strokes,  his  "  Raven,"  and  gave  it  to  the  world, 
men  felt  that  there  was  the  ring  of  true  genius. 
And,  although  it  was  the  utterance  of  a  nature  at 
variance  with  its  earthy  surroundings,  and  tortured 
by  its  own  sensibility,  yet  because  of  its  gloomy 
grandeur  and  euphonious  rhythm,  the  poem  could 
not  fail  to  be  appreciated. 

Such  natures  cannot  live  long  in  the  flesh.     They 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  151 

are  like  two-edged  swords,  which  wear  upon  the 
scabbard.  There  is  ever  an  unseen  hand  upon  the 
hilt,  and  finally,  when  the  word  of  command  is 
given,  the  sword  is  drawn,  and  becomes  a  most 
effective  instrument  in  the  hand  of  Everlasting 
Truth  ;  then  the  individual  nature  that  has  so  long 
battled  the  stormy  elements  of  mortal  life  first  per 
ceives  its  advantages,  and  in  the  triumphant  exulta 
tion  which  spirits  always  feel  when  freed  from  the 
fetters  of  mortality,  it  exclaims,  "O  Death!  where 
is  thy  sting?  O  Grave!  where  is  thy  victory?" 
That  diviner  spirituality  which  was  obscured  by 
the  flesh,  which  was  crushed  down  by  earthly  cir 
cumstances,  at  length  frees  itself,  and  starts  up 
in  all  its  majesty  and  glory.  But  the  mysterious 
growth  and  development  of  the  spirit  does  not 
end  here. 

Perhaps  in  this  connection  we  may  present  to 
you  certain  points  from  which  you  will  feel  obliged 
to  dissent.  They  may  seem  like  vague  theories 
and  wild  speculations.,  yet  they  are  truths  which 
you  are  yet  to  realize  in  your  eternal  experience, 
—  truths  which  this  one  of  whom  we  speak  will 
present  to  you  in  repetition  to-night. 


152  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

There  is  a  power  in  man  which  is  closely  con 
nected  with  the  things  of  external  life,  and  draws 
inspiration  from  nature  and  the  associations  of 
his  fellow-men.  There  is  a  power,  also,  in  every 
human  being  superior  to  the  spirit,  and  that  is 
the  soul,  or  innermost  life  —  which  is  a  divine 
and  indestructible  principle.  When,  therefore,  the 
garment  of  flesh  is  laid  aside,  —  when  the  mortal 
puts  on  its  immortality,  —  the  spirit  goes  forth  pre 
cisely  as  it  is.  If  it  has  been  under  the  influence 
of  ungoverned  passion;  if  it  has  striven,  through 
mad  ambition,  to  attain  to  some  cherished  ideal,  still 
does  it  feel  that  impetus,  and  its  earthly  longings 
and  aspirations  must  pass  away  through  a  gradual 
transformation.  You  may  dissent  from  this,  but 
the  change  of  the  earthly  garment  does  not  effect 
a  radical  change  in  the  spirit.  And  thus,  as  the 
spirit  of  Edgar  A.  Poe  started  forth  on  its  celestial 
journey,  all  that  bound  him  to  eartli  still  held  a 
certain  degree  of  influence  over  him.  "Life  is 
one  eternal  progress,"  and  only  by  progression 
and  the  gradual  development  of  his  nobler  nature 
could  he  outlive  that  bondage.  In  many  respects 
he  had  loved  life  and  the  things  of  earth.  In 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  153 

his  intercourse  with  men  he  could  not  free  him 
self  from  "  the  sins  which  did  so  easily  beset  him." 
Xeither  could  he  restrain  that  sensitiveness  and 
irritability  of  nature  which  so  often  destroyed  the 
peace  of  his  outer  and  inner  life,  and  therefore 
he  must  necessarily  outgrow  that  in  higher  con 
ditions,  and  under  more  favorable  influences.  As 
he  gradually  attained  to  a  sublimer  consciousness 
of  the  beautiful  and  true,  much  of  the  wild  and 
fitful  fire  peculiar  to  his  genius  departed  from 
him,  and  there  came  in  its  stead  a  majestic  flow 
of  inspiration,  solemn  and  grand  as  the  music  of 
the  spheres.  He  saw  that  there  were  harmonious 
relations  awaiting  him ;  and  as  his  soul  was  rich 
in  sympathy  and  love,  he  aspired  to  those  con 
ditions,  and  he  could  not  rest  until  he  had  attained 
unto  them.  The  hinderance  to  his  perfect  peace 
was  in  his  own  spirit,  and  he  realized  it.  It  was 
for  him  the  commencement  of  a  mighty  struggle,  — 

"  When  the  golden  bowl,  — life's  token,  — 
Into  shining  shards  was  broken." 

It  would  seem,  then,  as  though  conscious  of  his 
strength,  he  stood   up    like    a    spiritual   giant,  ex- 


154  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

claiming,  "  I  am  free !  At  last  I  am  free  !  "  There 
was  a  complete  expansion  of  his  being  as  he 
drank  in  the  celestial  air.  He  could  not  clearly 
understand  the  mysteries  by  which  he  was  sur 
rounded,  but  he  knew  that  there  was  a  latent  energy 
in  his  soul,  which,  being  more  fully  developed, 
would  wrestle  with  these  mighty  problems  until 
he  made  the  solution  his  own.  As  year  after 
year,  marking  great  and  ^important  changes  in  hu 
man  experience,  rolled  on,  men  who  remembered 
Poe  as  he  was,  said,  "Now  he  rests  from  life's 
labor ;  now  he  sins  and  sorrows  no  more." 

But  they  did  not  know  upon  what  a  mighty 
battle-field  he  stood,  neither  could  they  under 
stand  through  what  fires  of  purification  he  was 
passing.  But  there  he  stood,  contending  bravely, 
not  once  losing  faith  in  his  soul's  possibilities,  and 
pressing  earnestly  forward  to  the  desired  consum 
mation.  And  in  this  he  was  not  alone.  O,  no! 
There  was  with  him  a  whole  host  of  moral  heroes, 
who,  conscious  of  their  power  to  win  the  victory,  and 
quickened  by  the  inspirations  which  they  received 
from  that  higher  state  of  being,  were  striving,  by 
the  excelsior  movement  of  the  soul,  to  attain  to 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF  GODLINESS.  155 

those  glory-encircled  heights  from  whence  they 
could  look  calmly  down  upon  the  plane  of  their 
earthly  existence. 

Thus  it  was  that,  as  they  gradually  arose  higher 
and  higher  in  the  scale  of  being,  he  and  they 
could  perceive  that  all  sin,  and  sorrow,  and  evil 
ended  at  length  in  blessing,  and  that  truths,  which 
were  dim  and  indistinct,  which  seemed  aught  but 
truths,  came  out  into  clear  and  shining  light,  and 
in  their  heavens  were  stars  of  the  first  magni 
tude.  Thus,  also,  as  he  toiled  on  he  became  versed 
in  the  mysteries  of  the  spirit,  not  in  mere  moralities 
—  for  true  religion,  godliness  or  spirituality,  is  the 
full,  free,  and  complete  development  of  man's  entire 
being,  both  in  the  intellectual  and  moral.  Science 
and  literature,  art  and  religion,  have  been  sepa 
rated  by  mankind,  because  they  did  not  understand 
the  true  mystery  of  Godliness. 

But  in  that  higher  life  one  of  the  first  lessons 
taught  to  the  soul  is,  that  all  -things  have  their  uses. 
Even  the  low,  animal  passions,  leading  man  into 
error,  into  sin,  sensuality,  and  evil,  will  thereby 
teach  him  lessons  of  wisdom  ;  will  teach  him  to 
avoid  the  false  and  the  untrue,  and  also  that  there 


156  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

were  rocks  and  quicksands  upon  which  his  bark  had 
almost  foundered,  and  which  in  the  future  he  must 
avoid.  Whether  it  be  these  lower  passions,  or  the 
intellectual  and  moral,  still  each  must  have  its  own 
appropriate  manifestation. 

And  as  all  these  capacities  for  growth  and  percep 
tion  belong  not  to  the  body  but  to  the  spirit,  so  the 
spirit,  sweeping  away  into  the  great  Eternity,  bears 
up  all  these  powers  of  its  wondrous  mechanism  with 
it,  and  the  vision  of  Ezekiel  is  realized ;  for  "  the 
living  creature  being  lifted  up,  the  wheels  are  lifted 
up  also." 

Each  organ  of  the  brain  has  its  own  magnetic  cir 
cle,  touching  the  one  upon  another  like  the  mechan 
ism  of  a  watch,  and  all  governed  by  the  main 
spring,  which  is  the  internal  consciousness  of  man, 
the  central  power  of  his  being.  This  order  in  the 
change  from  the  mortal  to  the  immortal  is  not  lost, 
but  finds  a  more  harmonious  surrounding.  Thus, 
when  the  spirit  has  ascended,  with  its  increased 
power,  with  its  superior  opportunities  for  observation 
and  investigation  of  all  the  truths  of  the  universe, 
it  learns  this  most  important  truth, —  that  not  in  one 
direction,  but  in  all,  the  spirit  shall  find  its  most  free 
and  perfect  development. 


THE   MYSTERIES   OP   GODLINESS.  157 

Thus  having  become  familiar  with  the  conditions 
of  the  higher  life,  the  one  of  whom  we  speak  real 
ized  that  it  was  not  in  the  poetic  element  of  his 
being  alone  that  he  was  to  find  inspiration,  not  in 
smooth  flowing  numbers  or  cunning  arrangements 
of  human  speech,  but  in  the  grand  harmony  of  the 
living  whole  —  the  perfect  accord  of  his  entire 
being.  It  was  necessary,  in  passing  forth  from  the 
flesh,  that  he  should  learn  this  simple  lesson.  He 
has  endeavored  by  all  the  powers  of  his  nature  to 
make  its  application  ;  and  he  has  succeeded.  This 
night  he  gives  his  "  Farewell  to  Earth."  Xot  that 
he  is  to  be  divided  forever  in  his  interest  from 
Humanity,  but,  no  longer  incited  by  restlessness  or 
ambition,  to  express  in  rhythmic  numbers  the  fiery 
thought  within,  no  longer  drawn  by  the  sordid  in 
terests  of  this  earthly  life,  he  can  gaze  down  upon 
this  lower  world  and  influence  the  minds  of  men, 
and  still  be  above  them.  He  can  still  minister,  as 
an  Everlasting  Truth  and  living  power,  to  the  needs 
of  Humanity;  but  as  Poe,  the  individual,  he  is 
willing  to  be  forgotten.  His  personality,  as  far  as 
human  recognition  is  concerned,  can  end  here.  He 
cares  not  that  "this  poor,  paltry  me  should  be  spun 
14 


158  POEMS   FROM    THE   INNER   LIFE. 

out  into  Infinity."  He  says:  "Let  my  soul  speak, 
which  is  the  Divine  Power.  I  have  realized  in 
myself  the  mysteries  of  Godliness,  and  know  now 
that  I  too  am  Divine.  I  have  merged  and  lost 
my  will  in  the  Great  Will  of  the  universe.  I  know 
now  what  heaven  is;  it  is  beauty,  perfection,  har 
mony.  I  would  live  forever  in  that  celestial  air, 
and  draw  in  the  vitalizing  influences  of  truth.  I 
do  not  desire  to  go  down  to  the  lowly  homes  of 
earth,  nor  to  mingle  with  men  in  their  contentions 
and  selfish  interests.  I  know  that  there  is  a  Power 
guarding  and  guiding  all  things,  and  I  can  trust 
those  whom  I  have  loved,  or  those  for  whom  I  have 
cared,  in  that  Almighty  Hand.  Whatever  mysteri 
ous  manifestation  of  wisdom  on  the  part  of  Divine 
Providence  comes  to  Humanity,  I  can  say  now,  '  It 
is  well !  Let  the  will  of  that  Power  be  done ! ' 
I  have  then  no  work  to  perform  for  you.  I  have 
only  to  carry  with  me  through  the  vast  Eternity 
an  open  nature,  that  I  may  receive  truths,  and,  in 
passing  onward,  transmit  them  to  those  who  are 
to  follow  after  me." 

Thus    it    is    with    all    great    and    earnest    souls. 
"  The  mystery  of  Godliness,"  or  true  spirituality,  as 


THE   MASTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  159 

an  impelling  and  inspiring  power,  is  behind  them, 
making  itself  manifest  through  their  being.  It  also 
stands  before  them,  beckoning  them  on  the  way. 
It  may  be  they  have  natures  of  steel  and  fire,  and 
that  a  thought  electric  strikes  upon  the  heart,  and 
sits,  a  mania,  on  the  brain.  But  still  they  feel  that 
power  impelling  and  persuading,  and  finally  when 
they  perceive  that  the  grand  current  of  human 
events  is  tending  towards  the  great  ocean  of  Infinite 
Truth,  they  are  willing  to  let  their  own  peculiari 
ties  and  characteristic  tendencies  also  flow  on  in 
the  great  stream,  and  so  harmony  is  at  length 
established,  not  only  with  themselves  but  all. 

The  lesson  of  Poe's  life,  in  itself,  was  worth  much 
to  Humanity.  In  coming  time,  others  besides  our 
selves  will  dissect  and  analyze  his  peculiar  nature, 
and  present  it,  even  as  we  have,  to  men,  as  an 
instance  of  that  Spirit  which  was  "  made  manifest 
in  the  flesh,  which  was  seen  of  angels,  was  preached 
by  inspired  lips  to  Humanity,  believed  on  in  the 
world,  and  received  up  into  glory."  Great,  indeed, 
is  the  mystery  of  Godliness!  great  in  the  light  of  the 
human  lives  that  come  and  go  upon  the  broad  arena 
of  earthly  existence.  Great,  also,  is  that  mystery  as 


160  POEMS    FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

made  manifest  in  those  spirits  who  go  forth  from  the 
flesh,  and  feeling*  the  Divine  inspiration  stirring 
within  them,  seek  for  life,  —  Eternal  Life,  —  in  order 
that  they  may  grow  and  expand  to  the  fulness  of 
their  spiritual  being,  having  writhin  themselves  a 
quenchless  thirst  for  the  harmonious  and  the  beau 
tiful.  They  are  true  to  the  great  law  of  -spirit,  for 
whether  in  Time  or  Eternity,  it  may  still  be  said 
that,  — 

««  Within  the  heart  of  man  there  is  a  constant  yearning 

For  something  higher,  holier,  unattained,  — 
Upward  and  onward,  from  the  present  turning, 

Yet  resting  never  when  a  point  is  gained. 
Some  unseen  spirit  evermore  the  soul  is  urging 

Throiigh  childish  weakness  and  ambitious  youth ; 
And  day  by  day  all  souls  are  still  converging 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Central  Source  of  Truth. 
Youth  cuts  a  foothold  in  the  Rock  of  Ages ; 

The  hope  of  Fame  and  Glory  lures  him  on  his  way, 
And,  pondering  o'er  the  works  of  ancient  sages, 

He  catches  glimpses  of  a  brighter  day. 
Alas  !  but  toilsome  is  the  way,  and  dreary, 

To  him  who  has  no  high  and  holy  aim, 
And,  pausing  on  Life's  threshold,  sad  and  weary, 

He  casts  away  the  laurel  wreath  of  Fame."  * 

Thus  was  it  with  Poe.     Not  clearly  discerning 

*  Those  lines,  with  those  at  the  close  of  the  lecture,  are  quoted  from 
one  of  my  written  poems. 


THE   MYSTERIES   OF   GODLINESS.  161 

the  purposes  of  life,  he  did  not  bend  his  efforts  to 
one  high  and  holy  aim.  His  nature  was  wandering 
and  erratic.  This  is  also  his  present  view  of  his 
earthly  life.  "  He  has  cast  away  his  laurel  wreath 
of  fame,"  and  now  upon  his  brow,  burning  brightly 
with  the  glories  of  the  celestial  sphere,  is  an  olive 
wreath  of  peace.  He  -stands  now  as  a  majestic 
soul,  self-poised  and  harmonious.  Yet  he  has  not 
lost  aught  of  the  brilliancy  and  fire  of  his  genius. 

Edgar  A.Poe  was  mighty  in  the  flesh;  and  in  the 
spirit  he  is  mightier  far.  His  manifestations  will  yet 
come  to  mankind,  but  not  as  from  the  individual. 
They  will  speak  to  your  souls ;  they  will  breathe  in 
words  of  fire  from  the  lips  of  Humanity,  as  inspira 
tions  from  the  Higher  Life,  rather  than  as  the  utter 
ances  of  him  who  was  once  known  among  men  as 
EDGAR  A.  POE. 

"  O,  ever  thus  have  Earth's  most  noble-hearted 

Gone  calmly  upward  to  their  place  above  ! 
And  when  their  footsteps  from  the  earth  departed, 

Have  left  their  works  of  genius  or  of  love. 
For  Aspiration  is  the  moral  lever,  raising 

The  earnest  spirit  to  its  destined  height ; 
But  Inspiration  only  comes  from  gazing 

Upon  the  perfect  Source  of  Life  and  Light !  " 

14* 


162  POEMS  FROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 


FAREWELL  TO   EARTH. 

[The  following  poem  purports  to  be  Poe's  final  farewell  to  Earth. 
It  was  given  in  the  city  of  New  York,  Monday  evening,  Nov.  2,  1803.] 

I. 

FAREWELL  !    Farewell ! 
Like  the  music  of  a  bell 
Floating  downward  to  the  dell  — 
Downward  from  some  Alpine  height, 
While  the  sunset-embers  bright, 
Fade  upon  the  hearth  of  night ; 
So  my  spirit,  voiceless  —  breathless,  — 
Indestructible  and  deathless, 
From  the  heights  of  Life  Elysian  gives   to   Earth 

my  parting  song ; 

Downward  through  the  star-lit  spaces, 
Unto  Earth's  most  lowly  places, 
Like  the  sun-born  strains  of  Memnon,  let  the  music 
float  along, 


FAREWELL   TO   EARTH.  163 

With  a  wild  and  wayward  rhythm,  with  a  move 
ment  deep  and  strong. 

"Come  up  higher!"  cry  the  angels.  —  This  must 
be  my  parting  song. 

Earth !   O  Earth !   thou  art  my  Mother. 
Mortal  man !   thou  art  my  Brother. 
We  have  shared  a  mutual  sorrow,  we  have  known 

a  common  birth; 
Yet  with  all  my  soul's  endeavor, 
I  will  sunder,  and  forever, 
Every  tie  of  human  passion  that  can  bind  my  soul 

to  Earth  — 
Every  slavish  tie  that  binds  me  to  the  things  of 

little  worth. 

"  Come  up  higher ! "  cry  the  angels  :  "  come !  and 
bid  farewell  to  Earth." 

I  would  bear  a  love  Platonic  to  the  souls  in 
earthly  life ; 

I  would  give  a  sign  Masonic  to  the  heroes  in  the 
strife ; 

I  have  been  their  fellow-craftsman,  bound  appren 
tice  to  that  Art, 

Whereby  Life,  that  cunning  draughtsman,  builds 
his  temple  in  the  heart. 


164  POEMS  FROM  THE  INNER  LIFE. 

But  with  Earth  no   longer  mated,   I   have   passed 

the  First  Degree ; 

I  have  been  initiated  to  the  second  mystery. 
O,  its  high  and    holy  meaning  not   one  soul  shall 

fail  to  see ! 
Now,  with  loftiest  aspirations,  onward  through  the 

worlds  I  march, 
Through  the  countless  constellations,  upward  to  the 

Royal  Arch. 
"  Come  up  higher ! "  cry  the  angels :   "  come  up  to 

the  Royal  Arch." 

IT. 

Farewell !     Farewell ! 
Like  the  tolling  of  a  bell, 
Sounding  forth  some  funeral  knell, — 
Tolling  with  a  sad  refrain, 
Not  for  those  who  rest  from  pain, 
But  for  those  who  still  remain; 
So  sweet  pathos  would  I  borrow 
From  the  loving  lips  of  Sorrow, 
Weaving   in   a   plaintive   minor  with  the   cadence 

of  my  song, 
For  the  souls  that  lonely  languish, 


FAREWELL  TO   EARTfl.  165 

For  the  hearts  that  break  with  anguish, 
For  the  weak   ones  and   the   tempted,  who   must 

sin  and  suffer  long ; 
For  the   hosts    of  living   martyrs,  groaning  'neath 

some  ancient  wrong ; 
For  the   cowards   and   the   cravens,  who   in   guilt 

alone  are  strong. 

But  from  all  Earth's  woe  and  sadness, 
All  its  folly  and  its  madness, 
I  would   never   strive   to   save   you,  or   avert  the 

evil  blow ; 

Even  if  I  would,  I  could  not, 
Even  if  I  could,  I  would  not 
Turn  the  course  of  Time's  great  river,  in  its  grand, 

majestic  flow; 
Grapple  with  those  mighty  causes  whose  results  I 

may  not  know : 

All  Life's  sorrows  end  in  blessing,  as  the  future  yet 
shall  show. 

From  Life's  overflowing  beaker  I  have  drained  the 

bitter  draught, 
Changing  to  a  maddening  ichor  in  my  being  as  I 

quaffed. 


166  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER  LIFE. 

I  have  felt  the  hot  blood  rushing  o'er  its  red  and 

rameous  path, 
Like  the  molten  lava,  gushing  in  its  wild,  volcanic 

wrath ; 
Like  a  bubbling,  boiling  Geyser,  in  the  regions  of 

the  pole ; 
Like  a  Scylla  or  Charybdis,  threatening  to  ingulf 

my  soul. 
O,  for  all  such  fire-wrought  natures  let  my  rhythmic 

numbers  toll! 

Vulnerable,  like  Achilles,  only  in  one  fatal  part, 
I  was  wounded,  by  Life's  arrows,  in  the  head,  but 

not  the  heart. 

"  Come  up  higher ! "  cried  the  angels ;  —  and  I  has 
tened  to  depart. 

m. 

Farewell !  farewell ! 

Like  a  merry  marriage-bell, 

Pealing  with  a  tuneful  swell, 
Telling,  in  a  joyful  strain, 
With  a  whispered,  sweet  refrain, 
Of  the  hearts  no  longer  twain ; 

So  no  longer  cursed  and  fated, 

Fondly  loved  and  truly  mated, 


FAREWELL  TO  EARTH.  16T 

I    can    pour    my    inspirations,    free    as    Orpheus, 

through  my  strain. 
Gifted  with  a  sense  of  seeing 
Far  beyond  my  earthly  being, 
I  can  feel  I  have  not  suffered,  loved,  and  hoped, 

and  feared  in  vain ; 
Every  earthly  sin  and  sorrow  I  can  only  count  as 

gain: 
I  can  chant  a  grand  "  Te  Deum "  o'er  the  record 

of  my  pain. 

Ye  who  grope  in  darkness  blindly, 
Ye  who  seek  a  refuge  kindly, 
Ye  upon  whose  hearts  the  ravens  —  ghostly  ravens 

—  perch  and  prey, 
Listen !  for  the  bells  are  ringing, 
Tuneful  as  the  angels  singing, 
Ringing  in   the  glorious   morning  of  your  spirit's 

marriage-day, 
When  the  soul,  no   longer   fettered  to  the  feeble 

form  of  clay, 

To  a  high,  harmonious  union,  soars,  elate  with  hope 
away. 


168  POEMS   FROM   THE   INNER   LIFE. 

Where  the  iris  arch  of  Beauty  bridges  o'er  celestial 
skies, 

Where  the  golden  line  of  Duty,  like  a  living  path 
way  lies, 

Where  the  gonfalons  of  Glory  float  upon  the  fra 
grant  air, 

Ye  who  read  Life's  lengthening  story,  find  -a  Royal 
Chapter  there. 

Ye  shall  see  how  men  and  nations  o'er  the  ways 
of  life  advance ; 

Ye  shall  watch  the  constellations  in  their  mazy, 
mystic  dance; 

And  the  Central  Sun  shall  greet  you — greet  you 
with  a  golden  glance. 

O,  for  souls  in  Life  Eternal  let  the  bells  in  glad 
ness  ring! 

Bind  the  wreath  of  orange  blossoms,  and  the 
wedding  garment  bring. 

"  Come  up  higher  ! "  cry  the  angels.  —  Let  the  bells 
in  gladness  ring. 

IV. 

Farewell !    Farewell ! 

Like  the  chiming  of  the  bells, 

Which  a  tale  of  triumph  tells : 


FAREWELL   TO    EA 


As  the  news  in  tuneful  notes, 
Leaping  from  the  brazen  throats, 
On  the  startled  ether  floats ;  — 
So  in  freedom,  great  and  glorious, 
Over  flesh  and  sense  victorious, 
Does  the  Spirit   leap    the  barrier  which    across  its 

pathway  lies ! 

Greater  far  than  royal  Caesar, 
Fearless  as  the  northern  ^Esir, 
Drawn   by  Love's    celestial  magnet,   winged   with 

faith  and  hope  it  flies, 
Upward  o'er  the    starry  pathway,  leading   onward 

through  the  skies, 

To  the  land  of  Light  and   Beauty,  where  no  bud 
of  promise  dies. 

There,  through  all  the  vast  Empyrean, 
Wafted,  as  on  gales  Hesperian, 
Comes  the  stirring  cry  of  "  Progress " !   telling  of 

the  yet  to  be. 
Tuneful  as  a  seraph's  lyre, 
"  Come  up  higher !  Come  up  higher  ! " 
Cry  the  hosts  of  holy  angels ;  "  learn  the  heavenly 
Masonry : 

15 


170  POEMS   PROM   THE  INNER  LIFE. 

Life  is  one  eternal  progress :  enter,  then,  the  Third 

Degree ;  — 
Ye  who  long  for  light  and  wisdom  seek  the  Inner 

Mystery ! 

Thus,  O  Sons  of  Earth,  I  leave  you !  —  leave  you 

for  that  higher  light ; 

And  my  charge  is  now,    Receive  you  all  my  part 
ing  words  aright : 
Human  passion,  mad   ambition,  bound  me  to  this 

lower  Earth, 
Even  in  my  changed  condition  —  even  in  my  higher 

birth. 
But,  by  earnest,  firm    endeavor,    I   have   gained  a 

height  sublime ; 
And  I  ne'er   again  —  no,  never !  —  shall  be  bound 

to  Space  or  Time ; 
I  have  conquered  !  and  forever !    Let  the  bells  in 

triumph  chime ! 
"  Come  up  higher  !  "  cry  the  angels  :  "  come  up  to 

the  Royal  Arch! 
Come   and  join   the   Past  Grand  Masters,  in   the 

Soul's  progressive  march, 
O,  thou  neophyte  of  Wisdom !     Come   up   to   the 

Royal  Arch ! " 


FAREWELL  TO   EARTH.  171 

Sons  of  Earth!   where'er  ye  dwell, 
Break  Temptation's  magic  spell ! 
Truth  is  Heaven,  and  Falsehood,  Hell! 
Lawless  Lust  a  demon  fell! 
Sons  of  Earth  !   where'er  ye  dwell,  — 
In  this  Heaven,  or  in  this  Hell, — 
When  ye  hear  the  solemn  swell 
Of  Creation's  mighty  bell 
Sounding  forth  Time's  funeral  knell, 
Ye  shall  meet  me  where  I  dwell;  — 
Until  then  —  FABEWELL!    FABEWELL! 


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